Second Journey Chrono Cross Fan Novelization
by bb2k
Summary: Chrono Cross novelization. Now I'm busy with work and my wonderful girlfriend. But here comes the first half book 3 :) And it brings Serge from the Sacrament towards Marbule, where he shall meet Irenes.
1. Book 1 Prologue

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**Prologue**

A book has been stashed away for ages in a secret compartment, hidden from all eyes like a sacred treasure that no one was meant to find. I find it lying under a cake of dust and of mould, a ground for spider waste. Its cover made from leather hide is frayed, its pages brittle. It is a diary of person long gone, a legacy that now remains in the very words it writes. 

I blow the dust and put the pages of history on the desk. I open the book under the flickering lamp, to find within a plethora of emotions expressed all in its first page, as if it summed its contents within. It is upright and strong on the words that spoke of joy. It is unkempt and sloppy on those that spoke of pain, as if the author was loath to write and had scribbled past it. The writing was of a style ancient, its characters long forgotten in this time. 

It reads:

_What was the start of all these? _

_When did the cogs of fate begin to turn?_

_Perhaps it is impossible to answer that now, _

_from within the deep flow of time..._

_But, for a certainty, back then,_

_We loved so many, yet hated so much._

_We hurt others and were hurt ourselves._

_Yet, even then, we ran like the wind, _

_Whilst our laughter echoed under the cerulean skies..._


	2. Book 1 Chapter 1 The Tides Begin to Tur...

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**1   The Tides Begin to Turn**

The sun hung high in the sky above the white fluffy clouds in an unusually warm afternoon. 

Serge turned around to see before him a magnificent building, an unfamiliar structure. Circled by a range of tall mountains, it was a stronghold, a fortress, as if it sat right at the heart of a huge crater. Six statues of dragons, erected strategically around the fortress, amplified the majesty. 

His legs carried him towards the building as if they had a mind of their own. A magical platform below himself elevated and carried him up. The door cranked as it struggled to slide open along its old and rusty tracks. Three figures beside him ran out into the long hallway before him. One was a lady in red with a blonde ponytail, another young who donned the armor of a knight. The third was his childhood friend, Leena. The three of them stopped and turned to Serge, looking extremely concerned.

"What is it, Serge? You look troubled. This is it. There is no turning back now!" Leena said.

"Oi! Come on, Serge, Leena!" The slender girl in red yelled. She turned around, facing down the hallway. "Just you wait, Lynx!  Today's gonna be the day of reckoning! Say your prayers! Not that it'll do you any good!" 

The young girl boomed a victorious laughter that echoed down the hallway.

"Serge!" Leena called out.

Again, his legs carried him down the hallway. The rest followed. 

They emerged at a grand hall where bats flew and large mechanical bots stomped. The group of four proceeded to the center of the hall, having little difficulty in shrugging off the persistent bats and fending off the machineries. They ascended onto a circular pad of a crystal amethyst blue engraved with a symbol -- seven rings; six at the corners of a hexagon joined by straight lines to one in the center. Flares of white danced around them, as four pillars of light shielded them and bathed them in gentle warmth. Serge began to feel light-headed as his body began to float upwards beyond his control. In a blink, he found himself bulleting up the hall, harmlessly through its ceiling, into open space and then settling down onto a structure that seemed like a roof.

"Oi!" the girl in red roared. "What the bloody hell just happened?" 

She walked to the edge of the roof and looked down.

"Wow! Bugger!" the girl exclaimed noisily. "We're so high up! Is this thing floating?"

The roof of the fortress, small as the top of a castle tower, floated in the heavens by means of magic unknown. The clouds were like dense mist that shrouded them in a faint, mystic white. Strong, unrelenting drafts dragged the mist through the skin like a spray of such near the end of a long waterfall. The atmosphere was biting cold, the gushing air difficult to breathe. A straight aisle led from the pad and to huge door closed to what seemed to be a chamber. 

"Did it feel like your body passed through the floor just now?" Leena asked.

"This sure is some fort," the girl in red said as she turned away from the edge towards Serge. "Eh, Serge?"

She crossed her arms, tapped her right foot on the floor and waited for Serge's acknowledgement. When Serge didn't reply, the girl studied him.

"You alright, Serge?" she asked as she uncrossed her arms. "You've been acting all weird. Who knows what's up ahead, so just stay on your toes, eh?"

Serge nodded his head but he felt extremely uneasy. He was overcome by an ill feeling, a premonition that chewed away at his guts. He tried to maintain his composure and shoved the ominous feeling aside. He walked towards the door to the chamber, where he found himself suddenly engulfed by an invisible strength that felt as if his flesh and muscles stretched in all directions. His head spun wildly as the corners at his field of vision warped, as if the door moved towards him and wanted to have him assimilated into it. 

Light flashed before Serge's eyes. A different scene took over his vision. He saw another version himself -- a duplicate, an imposter -- standing some distance away with a crooked grin on his face. In that Serge's hand was a short dagger, fresh blood dripping from it. The girl in red now lay motionless in a puddle of red, her face grimaced in agony. Overwhelmed by anger and an inexplicable feeling for her, Serge dragged his feet towards "the other Serge."

"Serge!" Leena cried out. "No!" 

The imposter Serge turned and pointed his hands at him. As a huge field of black energy formed around the other Serge's hands, Serge stubbornly approached his adversary, knowing well he would never be able to reach him in time. A bolt zapped through the air and struck hard onto Serge, before the darkness of the black swallowed him completely.

The last thing he heard, was Leena shouting weakly, "Serge!"

"Serge!"

"Serge?" a gentle voice said softly.

Where was this place?

"Good morning, Serge," greeted his mother. "Come on sleepy head, get up!"

Serge struggled to open his eyes to the wooden ceiling in his room. A dream, he dismissed. 

It was morning, very late morning. The sun's rays were streaming almost vertically through the old and frayed blinds into his room onto the floor carpet. 

This morning, summer had just started for the year 1020AD. He gave Leena his word that they would be down at the Lizard Rock today to hunt for lizard scales for her new necklace, an item part of Leena's comprehensive summer program, one that was always creatively different every year.

Serge was seventeen. With a blue fringe sticking out from his favorite red bandana, he was the average boy who was just as interested as keeping up with dress fashion as every other teenager did. He had the standard build: nicely toned biceps, forearms, and a naturally tan skin. His was dressed in a black shirt under a leather vest that extended beyond his hips, and around his waist a black belt that held his leather vest neatly tucked against his body. His bottom was a pair of blue Bermudas with decorative patterns dyed near the hems, a current fad in Arni these days. 

Serge was quiet and he kept a lot to himself. He hardly talked to the villagers or the kids, not even to Leena. He never conversed much with his mother either, and was never verbal about the love he held for his mother, for the love that he believed was best left unspoken. His reserved nature earned him the likes of the villagers, nonetheless. Often, it was them who came up to him for the chat him, even though it almost always ended in a one-sided conversation. The other party would get tired and eventually leave Serge alone. 

As a dreamer, he pondered over a lot. He often wondered about the profound issues of life and the meaning of it. Twice, in his seventeen years he had seen, he faced death. But each time, miraculously, and thankfully, he escaped its unforgiving clutches. Perhaps it was these ordeals that had made him into a thinking person he was today.

Fourteen years ago, when Serge was only three, he was bitten and fatally poisoned by a panther-demon. He couldn't remember much of it now, what happened before and what happened after. He had heard little from his mother, for she was understandably reserved about it. Most of the story was pieced up from the accounts in little bits and pieces from his fellow villagers. 

Just ten years ago (or three years after the panther incident), at the age of seven, he almost drowned. He could vaguely remember the salt and the choking of the seawater. But the details in his mind were sparse, too. Some villagers found him unconscious, washed up by Opassa Beach. None of them knew what happened.

Perhaps due to the very nature of the incidents, his mind had freed the trauma of the most terrible moments in its life of their chains, refusing to be bound by the memories of The Devil's grasps at its very existence. Not remembering any of it was a good thing, Serge always felt. There are times when ignorance is bliss. And the simple, happy life he led now attested to that.

Serge sat up on his bed, stretched himself and let out a long relieving sigh. He rubbed his eyes and visually inspected in his room again, now spick and span. His mother had him clean up his room the whole of yesterday. But as most guys would have it, Serge included, he took forever. When he felt like it, he cleaned his bed. When he felt otherwise, he stood by the window, contented to just spend a few long moments, lost in deep thoughts. Or, he exerted every ounce of his strength, vigorously polishing his swallow. When he finished, he went back to his room to slog at the chores of dusting his wooden shelves and carpet. Dilly-dallying was the order of the day. By the time he finished his whole room, day had departed, the moons hung high. He was pleased nonetheless. It was after all his own room cleaned with his very own hands.

The swallow was a huge weapon that was as long as Serge was tall, like the oar of a boat, but with blades in place of paddles. He had been using his swallow for several months now, after he found it in the woods outside his village as he wondered around there one day. Then, it was old and stained and soaked in muddy water, the blades blunt. He saw beyond the unflattering dirt, and was charmed by its simplicity and its ingenuity in design. It was love at first sight. He took it back home immediately to have it cleaned and washed. Since then, he had been polishing and sharpening the swallow every day without fail, spending much more effort on it than he would have on his own room. Some days he cleaned it twice, some days thrice. He had no formal master to show him the moves, but the village chief, Radius, would drop a hint or two, drawing from what he had seen in his glorious days on the battlefield. Otherwise, Serge would invent some on his own, experiment them on long poles with weights attached to both ends, and then finally on the real thing. It became a necessity for Serge to leave home with it so that he defend himself and put it to good use, if necessary. 

Serge stood up and stretched once more. After a change into a new set of clothes, he walked downstairs to the hall to greet his mother and begin his new day.

"Morning, mom," Serge greeted drearily, even though he was delighted to see her.

"Oh, good _afternoon!_  Serge. You sure are taking your time. The sun's already reached high noon," his mother reminded gently. "By the way, didn't you have plans to meet with Leena this morning? Leena came by to see if you were up, but you, young man, were still off in never-never land. You shouldn't break promises like that. Girls can be pretty scary if you make them angry!"

Born and raised in Arni, Marge tied the knot at a young nineteen, and had Serge by twenty-one. At thirty-eight this year, she was a gentle mother, and a seamstress by occupation, the sole breadwinner for the family for now. Wrinkles of age and toil had developed at her eye bags, her hair turned slowly white. Yet, she exuded a beauty that refused to fade with the passing of time. Few who stopped by Arni in their journeys were not mesmerized by her beauty. Some tried to win her heart with words; others retreated when they realized she had Serge. But there were those who put off their journey, detoured north to Termina and spent a fortune on the best of flowers and most exquisite of gifts, just to please her. 

Never once did Marge accept anything, or anyone for that matter.

Wazuki was Serge's father, a tough but joyous man; strong, yet gentle; fun-loving but extremely responsible. A skilled sailor and a conscientious fisherman, he earned his living by selling the catch. He had been working since young at the age of fifteen, and walked down the aisle at twenty-one. After he had Serge when he was twenty-three, he sailed and fished less often, and turned to help out in the farms. 

Serge knew a lot about his father through the vivid descriptions from his mother and the villagers. But he knew little his father in person, or even how he looked like. When Serge was bitten and poisoned by the panther-demon fourteen years ago, Wazuki spared no efforts in seeking cure. Serge was eventually saved. But Wazuki was a changed man. He became depressed, violent and often hollered at other villagers. Several days later, he sailed out and never returned. No body was ever recovered. Everyone thought he was lost at sea and died there, that it must have been the over-exhaustion from saving his son that caused his death. 

Wazuki was only twenty-six then.

The day Wazuki didn't return, Marge worried for him. She waited for him at the pier from dawn to dusk, then from the starry nights through till the morning sun rose. The young Serge who had just recovered from the panther's bite, stood vigilantly at the pier with Marge, praying for his father's safe return. The indefinite waiting and the worrying took a heavy toll on his mother. The waiting stopped, but the worrying piled like the household chores that were left undone, dust not swept. She lost her smiles, her appetite, her sleep, and soon, her pink of health. She fell so sick she had to be confined to the bed. She almost lost her mind. Serge looked after her for a whole month, until she recovered. Today, it still pained him to think that she suffered so much then.

The passing of time healed the wounds, drowned the sorrows. The family of two soon learnt to accept the harsh reality of their loss, to have the courage to turn to a new, difficult chapter of their lives. 

"Hurry along now and go apologize to her," Marge advised sternly.

"Okay," Serge said as he made his way out of the house.

"Serge?" 

"Yes?" Serge replied as he turned back to Marge.

"Have you ever considered Leena as your girlfriend?" Marge gently asked that same question again. "You both are old enough to get married and have children."

Like all mothers, she always reminded Serge to get himself a girlfriend to take care of him, and the suggested partner always turned out to be Leena. Serge and Leena were close friends, but close were as far as they could go. 

"Besides, Leena is a nice girl, isn't she?" she said with a smile.

"Mom..."

"Alright, I shan't pester you. Now, hurry along and enjoy yourselves today."

Serge nodded obediently as he walked out the door.

"Bye, mom."

"Goodbye, Serge."

This was El Nido. 

Made up of a central continent and smaller isles surrounding it, El Nido was a small archipelago -- a paradise -- located on the far southwestern part of the globe, consistently in isolation from the rest of the world, almost invisible on most available models of the globe. Its physical location was inconveniently remote, for it required at least several days to travel on a large vessel to the continents beyond. Surrounded by a barrier of corals and mountains that touched the skies, the incoming traffic from the outside sailed through a small river on the northeast and was seasonal at best. During winter, the currents from inside El Nido would deter even the best ships from crossing the border. In summer, the currents in reverse made it impossible for anyone to leave.

Dubbed the land of the "Sleeping Dragons," legends had it that El Nido was once home to Six Dragon Gods who watched over humanity and was worshipped by many, especially in the days long gone when humans, demi-humans and the Dragonians once lived in perfect harmony. Islands were named after the Dragons: Sky Dragon Isle, Water Dragon Isle and Earth Dragon Isle; and presumably those Dragon Gods lived there. The other three Dragon Gods had no islands named after them, as was their whereabouts when the others were still around. In the recent years, the Six Dragon Gods, however, had not been heard of. There had been abundant conflicting rumors of their current state of existence, but it was generally thought that they had vanished overnight.

Arni, Serge's home, was a small village by the sea in the south of the central continent of the El Nido Archipelago. Set far away from the bustling town of Termina and the Viper Manor very far up in the north, surrounded by woods and paddy fields, Arni was a peaceful village, away from the sophisticated lifestyles. The villagers of Arni grew their own crops on the paddy and crop fields, and hunt their meals from the wilderness. Their main supply of food came from the sea. Arni was, after all, a fishing village, and fish was their staple food, as well as a revenue-generating trade. 

The village center was a gathering place for the villagers during the festive seasons, a place for celebrations, dinners, wedding ceremonies and all other joyous occasions alike. But on normal days such as today, the village center served as a market place for the villagers to sell their wares to travelers. 

Wooden-walled and green straw-roofed huts housed the Arnians and circled the village center, their entrances facing it. Stilts supported the huts at its base, elevating them from any potential floods and high tides that would have otherwise ruined their homes. Villagers hung dried fish as a symbol of luck and prosperity at their doors as a tradition. The big catch for the day would go up on display in the hammock, in accordance with another luck-bringing tradition handed down over the past thousand years, or so it was said. The fishing season had always been good; there were easily big catches every day.

Serge stepped out of his house into the grass and took a deep breath of the fresh air, which wasn't totally fresh, for it had the faint odor of fish mixed with the refreshing scent of the green grass and bushes. But it was air that Serge had been breathing for seventeen years, and that alone made him feel comfortable. 

The kids ran about and after each other in their games of catch, as they did almost every fine afternoon. Their joyous, carefree laughter blended with the soft sounds of the sea as its waters gently washed up the beach beside Arni. The male villagers who weren't out at sea carried out their daily routine at the fields; they plowed, dug up crops and planted new ones. The female villagers toiled through their daily housework chores: babysat and cooked while some others exercised their mouths with their daily gossips. Others set up their stalls to sell their crops and Element beads in the market place. 

Serge decided to head to Radius's for his daily prayers before meeting Leena. As he made his way there, Una screamed across the village center, "Yo! Sergey!"

He was Leena's younger brother. At fifteen, he was a bright, cheerful, but terribly mischievous boy. He liked Serge a lot, and seemed to be already treating Serge as his brother-in-law. The siblings were playmates -- or "the gang" as they used to call it -- together with Serge. But since they became of age, Serge was kept busy with the miscellaneous affairs of the village while Una and Leena looked after with the children. Una can be rarely spotted in the village for he was often out in the jungle tracks with the kids. Not today, it seemed. 

"Hi," Serge said, still half-awake.

"I heard you totally blew Leena off this morning," Una gloated delightfully. "I didn't think you had it in you!"

"I slept late last night," Serge said truthfully.

"That was really gutsy of you," Una said with a soft punch onto Serge.

"Is that so?"

"I guess that kinda shows her who's boss, eh?" Una said, raising his voice, lifting his chest as if he spoke of himself.

Serge scratched his head and forced a difficult smile.

"Don't tell her I said so," Una said as his eyes darted around slyly. "But my sister's a bit uptight, you know?"

Serge turned to Una and raised his eyebrows, puzzled. 

"Could you, like, break her in a little? You know, make her act a little more ladylike." 

"Well, she's not really--"

"You have my support all the way," Una interrupted, regaining that fresh voice once more. "I'll keep my fingers crossed for ya."

"Okay."

"Hey, listen, I can't talk to you now, I've got a lotta work to do!" Una said, as he turned away from Serge.

"Okay."

"Bye Sergey!" Una waved to Serge as he walked back to his home.

Serge continued on to Radius', whose abode graced a large field of green beyond a simple archway made of straw. The chief was taking a walk in the open space.

"Good afternoon, Serge," Radius greeted Serge.

"Good afternoon, Chief."

Radius was the chief of Arni, and had been the chief for about four years now. At 62, he was a bald man with white moustache, beard and brows so thick that it covered most of his eyelids. His was dressed in a white starched shirt over a dark turquoise sarong that extended all the way down to his ankles. The gold lavish embroidery masterfully sewn near to end spoke of his illustrious, royal past. In his younger days, Radius was an elite swords-master of the Acacia Dragoons – a Deva -- until he retired four years ago and settled down in Arni. He walked around with a cane and looked handicapped, but he was not to be underestimated for he remained a tough, experienced fighter, well-trained in the army. A punch from him or a jab from his cane would send one volleying across the village, or so the villagers exaggerated. Radius was really a benevolent old man, one who would beyond his call-of-duty to help another fellow villager.

The Acacia Dragoons used to be the military force of El Nido, until its leaders and a significant bulk of their top-ranking officials mysteriously vanished after an expedition some three years ago. Those who were fortunate enough to have been assigned to stay behind had shed their uniforms and since lived as civilians in Termina. Radius had lamented the disappearance as the lost of the world's finest governing body led by the world's finest leader. Three years later, today, he could be seen frequently staring blankly into the oceans, as if he grieved the loss of his comrades. Three years later, today, the military from Porre, a nation on the Zenan mainland east of El Nido, ruled the archipelago.

"Up late today?" Radius spoke slowly and deliberately.

"Yes, Chief."

"Have you been practicing with your Elements?"

A usual question. Since Radius became Chief, he wanted the villagers to study Element magic to defend themselves against the hostilities of world outside, against both animals and humans. When a villager walked past, he always went through with him or her, his lengthy lecture on the origins of the Elements and their effective use against danger.

It was said that the Earth was made up of six basic alignments, which they called the Elements. Each had a natural color, and these six colors -- the White, Black, Red, Blue, Green and the Yellow -- together made up the colors of everything visible. Each was also said to symbolize a different part of the natural environment. The White represented light and holiness and all things good, the Black shadow and darkness and all things evil. The Yellow represented the lightning and all forces of the Earth, the Green the winds and the leaves and nature in general. The Blue represented the waters that flowed in the oceans and rained the lands, the Red the fires that burned in the sun. 

Each person and even animals and plants that was born to this world had his or her or its own innate Element color, which depended on the living thing's time, date, place of birth and his parentage. Many fortunetellers used these particulars to foretell if one's life would be of prosperity or of poverty. But, there were those who believed in being the masters of their own fate.

Magic existed in the form of Element beads, the size of an almond. The bead was a rough crystal, its surface frosted, its composition colored by its natural alignment. A gentle glow pulsated from within the bead and disappeared upon the bead's use. The bead would be unusable for a while until the bead recharged and the glow returned. During use, the caster would hold the bead in hand and picture a continuous flow of energy from the bead to the target, who would receive its power in damage or in healing. It could be considered a form of meditation, only that it could also be used to inflict pain. As with any weapon, its effects could be enhanced with a higher level of concentration, a skill that can be trained from young, or a talent inborn. But as with any weapon, the effects could backfire if used improperly. In times of peace, enough beads put together doubled as light in the dark and as decorations during the festive.

There existed many legends related to the origin of the Elements. It was believed that the Six Divine Dragon Gods once raged a terrible war almost against each other ten thousand years ago, known today as the War of the Gods. Though the reason for that war had been lost in the mists of time, many believed that following that war, the Dragon Gods reconciled and created the six respective harmonious Elements for the mortal beings. When the magic was used, it would summon the strength of the respective God to their aid, a show of repentance for their atrocities. But this form of magic mysteriously refused to function in the mainland Zenan, far east of this tiny group of islands.

The younger generation of people, who were always eager to dispel the existence of any form of divine entities, believed these elements were created underground under the intense pressure of the earth that had caused them to be condensed and crystallized to a small point of concentrated energy. Historians believed that the Elements were created by the now extinct Dragonians from specific high-energy points on the land, which were termed, "Power Spots." Whichever the belief was, the Element beads were a widely used tool of defense, as well as offense. 

In some legends, a last seventh Dragon God even existed, but it was said to have been lost long ago, perhaps exterminated during that war. Correspondingly, if there was a seventh Dragon God, then there must have been a seventh Element as well. But by any logic, if that last Dragon God was no longer around, then that Element must have long disappeared. Still, such stories fascinated and sent archeologists digging into yet more, and then scouring the grounds of El Nido in search of the truths. But truth be told, these legends always remained as legends. 

"Yes," Serge replied.

"That's good to hear," said Radius with a voice that was calm and at the same time. "Keep practicing, though, and don't stop at it."

"Yes, Chief."

The Statue of Fate was a sacred statue, symbolizing the Goddess of Fate, another higher being whom the El Nidons worshipped. The bronze statue was sculpted into a fair maiden, who, dressed in primitive robes wrapped her essentials, stood and reached out to welcome the believer who would say his or her prayers to her. The believer would come before the sacred Statue, hold her welcoming hand, and pray for advice, for guidance and for a wish to be fulfilled. If their hearts supposedly held the faith, their prayers would be answered. 

The Goddess of Fate was originally a religion part of the one religion that bound the El Nidons -- the religion of the Dragon Gods:  the Divine Dragon Faith -- to one single spiritual faith. It was that one religion that was spread only by folklores and legends and by the word of mouth. It had having no official records, scriptures, or bibles, even if many had tried to compile one.

Legends spoke of the Goddess of Fate as the one Goddess who reconciled the six Dragon Gods during the War of the Gods, bestowing upon the lands and its inhabitants eternal peace. Thus, the Statue of Fate was erected in the name of the Goddess of Fate, as a symbolic reminder of the divine salvation granted to all life-forms. The Dragon Gods had no statues erected and they needed none, for when they still lived in El Nido, the people prayed to and worshipped the living Gods.

Among those whose faith were the strongly rooted in the Divine Dragon Faith were a race of species known as the ancient Dragonians, lizard- or dragon-like creatures the size of a human, who walked the very lands of El Nido, who lived peacefully alongside humans and the demi-humans for the past several thousand years, or perhaps even longer. Known as the sons of the Dragon Gods, the Dragonians were peaceful beings, affined to nature. They offered much to learn from: their intelligence, their technology, and most important of all, their way of life -- undisruptive and un-destructive to their surroundings that was to them, their home. Their fates changed drastically when a century ago, mainlanders from Porre came down south to El Nido and colonized the entire archipelago. Seen as strong, versatile beings, one by one, they were kidnapped against their will, and then exploited like slaves. Some were forced to work as transport like horses, and others even turned into exotic delicacies for the taste buds. In a period of no more than two years, the entire race of Dragonians was forced into hiding. And over a period of no more than ten years of weeding out these innocent beings, they were finally hunted into extinction by the mainland murderers. 

Since the demise of the Dragonians, the believers' faith began to shake and divide, as the followers of the Six Dragon Gods dwindled in numbers over the past few decades. To compound that, the Porre immigrants brought along with them a whole new generation of trendy and bold ideas, many of which denounced the role of the Gods and pronounced the existence of the self as being the ruler of one's own life. This, the young and easily impressed were quick to embrace, much to the dismay of the older generations, who were completely helpless at the blasphemous change that they felt spread like a terrible virus and corrupted the minds of their people. But the irony was that even when many didn't believe the existence of the Dragon Gods, they still relied on and harnessed the power of Elemental magic, said to be the strength from the Dragon Gods themselves. The bigger irony was that the very mainlanders who refused to acknowledge the Dragon Gods had gradually turned to the Goddess of Fate for their spiritual needs, a hip trend that, too, infected the many races as it swept through the archipelago. The fairies, dwarves, demi-humans, and the humans alike, now pledged (most of them, at least) their spiritual allegiance to the Goddess of Fate.

As for Serge, he believed in all that was good, and that included a sincere prayer everyday the Statue of Fate.

_Whereever you are, I pray that you are doing fine, Dad,_ Serge prayed sincerely as he touched his hand to the hand of the Statue, closed his eyes, and lowered his head_._

_Mom and I are still waiting for you._

The pier, made of wooden planks and sturdy stilts, extended the grassy grounds of Arni village out into and above the deep waters of the sea. It provided the docks where the fishermen's boat anchored, and a place where the troubled found solitude. A village fisherman sat quietly at the end of the pier for his daily fishing routine, sat beside his boat, which rocked gently to the waves of the sea on the waters beside him. Some of the village children were swimming not too far out in the sea, having plenty of childhood fun in the fine weather. Leena stood at the edge looking at the kids, babysitting them from afar. 

"Come on, you guys should join us! It feels really good!" shouted from the waters a boy by the name of Ricky.

"Unlike the rest of you, we're not here to play!" answered Leena. "Don't swim out too far, now!"

"Ooookay! Gotcha!" shouted Ricky as he returned to his dip.

Serge walked up to Leena, who was Serge's childhood friend. She was no older than Serge was, and was Serge's best friend in Arni village, even though he often felt that it was the other way around. She lived in the hut next to Serge's with her mother, her grandmother, and her greedy and overweight pet dog. She was fair with an average build, and wore a silky headband tied around her soft, silky red hair. Today, she dressed in red and blue, a combination that she stubbornly insisted was a perfect match. The blue was a long dress that extended from just above her bosom down to her knees. Had she had her way, she would have kept her upper arms, shoulders and collarbone exposed as such, but her elders felt it too bold by Arni's conservative standards that she wasn't permitted, not even in the house, to have that dress on without a proper outer covering. Much to her dislike, she had it worn under a comfortable, red outer dress that she cut and tailored herself. She saw it to that wore like a robe but that it bared her collarbone and revealed much of the flattering blue dress at the front. She made sure that little hatches were precisely cut into the red dress just so she could teasingly yet proudly reveal her fair, smooth maiden shoulders. Her elders had initially refused permission, saying that the change was just as good as none, but Leena would have none of that, insisting that it was her final compromise until they finally gave up, and gave in. Among her other fashion accessories was a sweet jasmine fragrance that she never failed to put on and that she, Serge heard from her, had bought from Termina with several months' worth of savings.

She always never had the right posture and behavior. She preferred to stand with her feet wide apart, and her clenched fists resting on her hips as she spoke. And when her mood was appropriate, she would straighten her chest and hold her left fist up, as if ready to throw a punch. But really, she was just preparing her pose before exclaiming "yes!" to declare her achievements in all imaginable, as well as unimaginable, circumstances.

Serge knew that she liked him. Contrary to popular belief, guys _aren't _exactly numbskulls and guys _do _know, even though they kept mostly mum about it. He was fond of her as his best friend, but that was as far as he could go. She had once very explicitly confessed her feelings before the village crowd, but they were too young then to be taken too seriously. And being the person he was, he never avoided her because he dreaded anyone to be hurt. Leena, on the other hand, always took care of Serge, always offering her unconditional help (most observers would say "love") wherever possible. When Serge was discovered at Opassa Beach after he nearly drowned, he fell very ill. Leena, only seven then, helped Marge take care of him until he recovered. 

She was adored by kids and adults. She always offered her help to baby-sit while their parents worked their day jobs, and the cleaning of homes included at no charge. Her biggest client was Marge, and Serge was the one she would baby-sit. An excellent chef, Leena loved to cook. But her experiences with the art of culinary didn't come without catastrophic failures. Serge was often the one who would become of the victim of every failure, for he was somehow contracted to be her food tester. But her natural talent in the kitchen turned a horrible dish into a divine delicacy a day or two later. Though he was the only one who tasted the worst, he was always the first who tasted the best; not even his and her mother had this privilege.

"Kids sure have it easy," she said. "Remember when we were like that? Not a single care or worry on our minds. How each day lasted an eternity, filled with newness, fun and excitement!"

"Yes."

"But the important thing now is not our childhood," Leena declared as she straightened her body and lifted her clenched fist before herself. The "yes" pose had come on, the victorious posture that looked like she had conquered the world and was returning home to sing her achievements to him.

"But my _KO-MO-DO_ scale necklace! _Yes_!" she declared enthusiastically, raising her voice a little as if she had just fathomed some innovative and profound philosophy. "We have to face up to reality and live each day anew!" 

"Yes, yes," Serge said monotonously, accustomed to her preaches.

"So, I want you to go to Lizard Rock and get some scales for me!  I would join you, but I still have to watch the kids. It's your fault! You were late! Once you collect some Komodo dragon scales, I'll catch up with you at Opassa Beach. Is that okay with you, Serge?"

"Sure. I will go get it."

"That's what I wanted to hear! Okay, then! Don't just stand around! Go collect some scales at Lizard Rock. Good luck!"


	3. Book 1 Chapter 2 A Calling From Beyond ...

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**2   A Calling From Beyond Time**

Serge grabbed his swallow and headed for the woods. After estimating the time it would take for Leena to end the swim and bathe the kids, he decided to take a short detour to Cape Howl before heading to the Lizard Rock.

Cape Howl was an outcrop in the hills beyond the woods, northwest of Arni, facing perfect west. Below the end of the Cape was the sea where the waves below crashed periodically into the jagged walls of the cliff, as though the sea had its own life, beating a slow heartbeat of its own. Islands of trees and sandy beaches, and dormant volcanoes as mountains adorned the vast expanse of an ocean blue, a picturesque panorama that one could behold only from such altitude at Cape Howl. The Sky Dragon Isle was among of these islands, unusually tall, crescent-shaped when looked down upon from above. It was an island on which many years ago lived the Sky Dragon and overlooked the lands and the people in El Nido. 

The sun was up in the sky, but it shied behind the plumes of cotton white that mushroomed under the cerulean blue. Little wisps of clouds drifted quickly as if energetically; large ones drifted slowly, burdened by its weight. They merrily gathered, painfully separated and then joyfully reunited. Those who came into path of the sun burned at the edges of its silhouette in its moment of darkness. Yet, they remained resilient, unwavering, as they went about unhindered until they drifted clear off the sun's path into peaceful skies.

The Cape was a place to enjoy the breeze, take a nap, or ponder over life, whenever Serge had the time. Then again, he had plenty of time.

The particular landmark was an unusual stone that protruded out of the ground, like the lower tooth of a huge, monstrous beast. On the face of the stone was the inscription of the mind of a young, innocent girl by the name of Leena, an inscription that Serge had little need to read, for it had already been etched into his memory:

_In our hearts forever,_

_Our summer when we were 12._

_Serge and Leena._

He walked further to the end and lied down near the edge of the protrusion. It had been five years since that evening. Yet, it seemed only like yesterday.

That evening, Leena had just turned twelve. Serge's birthday was over several weeks ago, but his mother, Marge, and everyone else in the village had decided to hold the celebrations on Leena's. He could not remember any birthday celebrations held with such grandeur, not in the royal sense, but by Arni's standard. It was an extremely joyous evening for the entire community, one never to be forgotten, one with the singing, dancing, feasting and heavy boozing (for the adults only, naturally). 

He had indeed found the bash quite a refreshing, welcomed change, up until Una found it necessarily to rally the villagers to coax Serge and Leena into dancing in the center of the village, which he found to be extremely embarrassing. The invitation was difficult to refuse, just as it was difficult to accept. Leena pulled him from his seat and bravely initiated the dance, much to the delight of everyone. He often suspected that the entertainment for that night was not the food or the wine, not Leena's gleeful and sometimes innovative hops, but his flushed face and his clumsy falls while hopelessly trying to keep up with Leena's lead. Admittedly, he did not put in any effort. 

The dance was over, but the ordeal wasn't, for that cheeky brother of Leena's had to suggest Serge kiss Leena, a suggestion at which the whole village roared in encouragement. Serge found no reason to put his lips onto hers. He lacked the courage to voice his mind, and lacked the heart to hurt a good friend. The audience's claps and encouraging chants grew in strength. If his face wasn't hot enough to cook an egg before, it was now. Leena eventually came slowly over to him, held him close to her, arms wrapped round his neck, and laid her warm lips softly onto his. Silence fell, and that moment froze for as long as he could remember. Leena's lips finally left his. Immediately, she turned away from Serge and ran back home, covering her face in blissful embarrassment. Completely stunned, Serge stood rooted to the ground, his cheeks and ears burning in the cool summer night. The whole village broke out in laughter and claps, as if it were already a wedding. 

Later that night, when the village was sound asleep, Leena sneaked into Serge's room and pulled him out from bed. He was initially reluctant. He eventually caved and permitted Leena to drag him out of the house and out of the village. 

"Shhh!" hushed Leena. "Let me bring you to a secret place!"

"Where?" Serge asked, dazed, unimpressed. He wanted to curl into his bed, curl into hiding from Leena.

"Come with me and you'll know!"

Leena thoughtfully brought with her an oil lamp, which she made to sure light only after they were safely out of the village.

"Mom always tell us not to wonder around," Serge reminded, afraid of the wild animals, especially of the panther-demons, who might find him once again an easy bite, like one did some nine years ago. 

But twelve-year-old Leena seem the least bothered.

"No worries! I brought along the pans! We can fight them off if they bite us!" said Leena optimistically as she gave to Serge one of her two pans she stole from her mother's kitchen. "Here, take it!"

The "secret place" was Cape Howl, where Serge had never visited before. That night, he learnt of its name for the first time, a name so terrifying, it made his hair stand on ends. He imagined a "cape" worn by an assassin who stood on the edge of a tall mountain, his silhouette jet black against the backdrop of the star-studded night. He imagined the "howl" with which the assassin's wolf companion would eerily cry into the full moon in the sky. He imagined too much. But he wondered how he could have permitted himself to be at this very place, at this ungodly time of the night.

Leena walked over to the stone protrusion, bent down and put the lamp beside her. Leena turned around to Serge.

"Serge! Over here!" she called out.

"What's that?" asked Serge impatiently as he shivered in the dark. He was unsure of whether he shivered from the cold breeze rushing towards the sea, or the fear of the prospects of another encounter with a poisonous creature.

"See this?" she said, pointing to the stone protrusion excitedly. "I am going to write something on this; something only the two of us will know!"

Leena took out a little sharp stone that she hid in her waist sash and began carving furiously on the rock. Serge stood behind her and kept watch on their six. Hands folded across his chest, the watchman shivered and chattered, as if he suffered withdrawal from an addiction, an addiction such as his safe, soft bed. Every single stroke she took was a longer drag that Serge could not wait to get out of. In a less tense circumstance, he could be thinking beyond the world into the profound concepts of living and dying. But in such a night, at such a place, his mind and thoughts were frozen from the cold clasp of terror.

"_Yes_!" Leena declared when she finally finished. Beads of perspiration on her forehead gleamed under the yellow of the lamp. "It's finally done!"

Serge bent down and ran his fingers through the face of the rock. "It's deep," he said. 

"Like it?" she asked with a grin.

"Well..." Serge hesitated, "it's er... okay."

"Okay? After all the effort, it's just okay?"

"It's nice," Serge swallowed uneasily.

"That's more like it!" she said proudly.

Leena pulled him to the edge of the crop, sat beside each other at the edge of the outcrop, facing a void of blackness that was the sea. Serge found himself intermittently turning his head back to look. Each time, he expected to see a pair of eyes, that of a black poisonous panther, that which glowed by the yellow of the lamp. Fortunately, he saw nothing of the likes.

"Serge?" asked Leena.

"Yes?"

"The stars are pretty, aren't they?"

"Yes."

"Look at the two moons!" Leena said, as she pointed her finger into the sky.

"What about them?"

"They are always together, side by side," Leena said with a softer tone, as she brought her hands back down.

"Yes, I know."

"Do you know that there was only one moon long, long ago?"

"Is that so?"

"Yes. I heard that from my mother. She told me that there used to be only one bright, silver moon, all alone in the sky. He was such a poor thing. A smaller, red moon then came from a far away place. She realized that the silver moon was lonely, and she decided to stay by his side for the rest of his life."

"Okay."

"She's so sweet, isn't she?"

"Well..." Serge shrugged, unable to comprehend her strange personifications. 

"Serge?" 

"Yes?"

"Promise me something, Serge."

"What?" asked Serge, puzzled, and fearful of a commitment he might be too soft-hearted to refuse.

"Promise me that you will always remember this day."

"What for?" Serge breathed relief.

"Just promise me!"

"Okay."

"Hee-hee. Thanks, Serge..."

Serge opened his eyes. 

He shook his head and smiled at the silliness. At the age of twelve, he understood little of what Leena meant at that time. But, as all girls do, Leena probably took the incident very seriously; evident from what she had done for Serge. He had to tell her that things weren't they way they were. The only question was how.

He got up, stretched himself and took a half hour walk down south.

The Lizard Rock was a set of rocky hills that divided Opassa Beach and the central continent down the southwest of Arni. Each side of the Rock was a shallow bay of water that was part of the larger ocean. A layer of sediment, garbage and the looks of a swamp carpeted the water bays. Sand rocks from the small to the monolithic stacked on top of each other formed the rocky hills that were a sight of dirty brown from afar. Soil and sand coagulated between the stacked rocks, from which abundant grass and dry bushes sprouted.

Small caverns the height of a child and few large ones tall as a five adults were homes to dragon-like lizards called the Komodo Lizards that littered the Rock. These Lizards were generally believed to be the offspring or the evolved descendants of wild Dragonians in the distant past, for they bore the same look of the reptilian beings. Yet, unlike their ancestors, their species lacked the intelligence and the lucrative lure the northern settlers wanted. The lizards were independent animals which usually moved about alone, so hunting down one was usually easy. 

The little caverns were also homes to a blue animal that looked like penguins but weren't quite. They had huge bulky frames that looked like eggs, walked on two and grew two fins. They had no head, but had eyes and mouth on their egg-shaped body. They were lazy creatures that looked silly and acted silly, and had therefore been conveniently associated with a person's backside. Put two side by side, they looked like such, too. People called them the Beachbums. It was an acronym for the longer "bums on the beach," a common colloquial slang. 

He spotted a small lizard the height of a child from far, standing and unsuspectingly gazing at the vast ocean near the bay of the Rock. Serge crept up slowly to a strategic hill several meters behind the lizard. He hid, watched, and waited for the moment to creep over, pounce for its neck, then severe it instantly to ease its death. 

Fine plan, he thought.

Gripping his swallow tight behind him, making sure that its long blades did not brush plant growth and scratched the ground, he stood up quietly from his vantage point. He advanced as the lizard bent its head down into the sandy water for a sip. As soon as the lizard dipped its head deep into the water, Serge leapt at it, his left hand aiming straight for its neck. He missed. The lizard jolted, screamed and fled. Serge jumped to his feet and gave chase. 

The lizard was nowhere as fast as Serge, but it negotiated the terrain with agility, hopping from side to side and darting across the brown, dirty hills. The lizard was heading home to its cavern, screaming away for help. 

Serge stepped up his pace, determined not to let the lizard have its wish. The lizard jumped across a small hill to another. Serge leapt. The distance between the lizard and Serge was closing, as was the distance between the Lizard and its home. Serge full throttled forward at a point where the lizard's safe haven was less than two hundred feet away. Predator and prey knew the lizard would never make it safely back. Just as Serge opened his steps and closed in for the catch, the lizard made a bolt to the left, just less than fifty feet away from the mouth of his home. It jumped up the slopes of a rocky hill to its top and darted into a bush. Serge reacted immediately, turned sharply to his right, leapt and ascended the hill to continue his hot pursuit. At only about twenty feet from the lizard, Serge was fairly close. While the bushes that covered a large area of this hill hindered his movements, it also slowed the lizard's speed. When they were out of the bushes into the sandy terrain, this spelled trouble for the creature. It shrieked for life. 

Serge made the jump as soon as he was close enough and caught the lizard by the neck. Terrified, it screamed, squirmed and clawed wildly. Its tail flapped from side to side violently as it tried to wriggle from its predator's clutches. The muscles at the shoulders of the Lizard contracted vigorously as Serge held on to its scaly, slippery neck with his left hand, which began to slide from his grip. 

Serge sliced his swallow neatly through its neck, from which blood gushed forth, soiling his clothes. The headless carcass thumped to the ground, twitching for a short while before it came to a complete stop. The lifeless head had stopped screaming, its eyes wide open. The blood that was initially spurting was now steadily oozing out of the neck of the carcass. The head, from which blood had been completely drained, now felt cold to the touch. Discarding the gut-churning remains from his hand, he bent down to the carcass on the ground and began to skin the Lizard's scales. 

When he finished, he stored the scales away safely in his vest pocket, and decided to head to Opassa Beach. Before he could stand, he heard a loud roar and felt his whole body volley forward. His swallow slipped. 

The cries of the young Komodo Lizard had roused the attention of its mother, who was bitter and desired revenge, that her child had been brutally murdered. Serge, the hunter, was now the hunted. 

Serge crashed onto the ground hard with a cry, at which the mother lizard gloated with a disdainful roar. Serge recovered to his feet and clenched his fists before himself in defense, paying no heed to the extra scratches on his arms, and the sore in his back and ankle. His arms trembled at the sight of the monstrous creature.

The mother lizard had a body about twelve feet tall, and including her tail, she was as long as five times the height of Serge. Her eyes were huge and grew out of her heads like that of toad, only their size were much bigger for the body she had. She was good for a pair of razor sharp dentals, a vicious stare and a breath worse than the pungent smell of rotten food. But she walked on fat fours that grew dirt-clogged and worn out nails. Her oversized, bloated body made her cumbersome and her movements rigid. 

Its awkward body was an advantage that calmed Serge, but only for a while, for the mother lizard had all the weapons. With his swallow was now resting comfortably below the bloated lizard, Serge was a sitting duck. He cursed himself for having made a dear mistake. One wrong move, he could be this creature's teatime. 

The mother lizard roared again as she inched slowly towards him, sending a wave of fear through his ribs. The weaponless Serge retreated as mother Lizard advanced. She stopped. Serge stopped. The two looked at each other's eyes, sizing up each other's weakness, looking for one moment of fear which would undoubtedly fire the trigger for the fearless' attack. The pupils in the mother lizard's eyes contracted and relaxed as she focused on Serge, the very being who murdered her child. She opened her mouth with a stinking, suffocating bellow, and exposed her teeth hungry for vengeance, ready to sink them into its foe and meal. 

At the sight of her vibrating tonsils and the thought of being swallowed whole, Serge jellied at his legs. He took a wobbly step back slowly and carefully, and then one after another towards his survival. His head, bandana and his back was wet with perspiration. His breathing was quick and totally out of rhythm. His heart pounded and resonated throughout his every muscle. 

Waiting was no solution. Serge slowly reached for his Elements in his pocket. The suspecting lizard bellowed as she squinted and crept towards Serge. Lifting the Element bead between his eyes, he spelled a blazing fire that exploded upon the lizard's body. The mother lizard cried in pain as the flare burnt away at her skin. Seizing the window of opportunity, he spelled another two fires on the mother lizard that erupted large balls of flares over the lizard. She stomped, wriggled and circled hysterically, desperately trying to rid her body of the fire that was slowly but surely consuming her body and her very soul. But her desperation and wild movements only hastened the spread of the fire to other parts of her body. The roars soon reduced to weak murmurs, her fours rooted to the ground. Her fats were burnt to the crisp, overcooked, charred, and her vision completely disabled. The mother lizard resigned to her tragic misfortune that had befallen on her family on a single day, resigned to death that was coming to claim her. 

With the fire still raging fiercely, eating its way past the flesh, the mother lizard was decapitated. But only until Serge was sure the mother lizard was completely motionless did he retrieve his swallow. Weapon back in hand, he finally breathed with ease and proceeded to the meeting point with care, and his six carefully guarded.

Opassa Beach, a beach south of Lizard Rock, was touted as the beach with the softest, whitest sands that stretched a mile-long expanse. The beach was also known for its crystal clear waters, the breaking waves that foamed a soft sheet of white over the sands, the reflection of the sky's colors on the wet of the sands as the waves retreated, as if there were another heaven on earth. The air was fresh, the wind cool, and the panoramic view of the southern isles of the entire archipelago scenically unobstructed. But the qualities never drew the crowd to this potential recreational escape, for its inconvenient location across the Lizard Rock made it dangerous for many to venture over, especially children. Perhaps that was why the sands could remain so white, its waters so clear.

Serge walked over to the waves, bent down, washed the blood stains off his arms and clothes, and had the lizard scales scrubbed thoroughly until they gleamed with a gradient of the rainbow against the afternoon sun.

"There you are!" came Leena's voice from behind Serge, just as he finished cleaning the last of the scales.

He stood up and walked to Leena.

"Sorry I'm late. I hope you didn't wait too long, Serge. Well? How'd it go? Did you get the Komodo scales?"

"Here they are," said Serge as he handed the now glittering Komodo Lizard rainbow-colored scales over to Leena.

"Oh, they're beautiful!" exclaimed Leena delightfully. 

Soon, the smile departed from her face, and she stared blankly at the scales and never looked up. She mumbled softly under her breath, and then she stopped and bit her lips. She said nothing more, walked a little further way from him and took her seat there.

Serge put his swallow down on the sands before him. Hands on his waist, he gazed into the faraway skies. The close encounter with the mother lizard quickly forgotten, he was soon lost in thought, pondering over the beauty of the simple azure in the skies above the fluffy clouds. The two were quiet for a moment as the waves washed gently up and down the beach, speaking its presence in the absence of speech.

"Serge?" said Leena finally, breaking the silence.

"Yes?"

"The sea..." she said unusually gently, a behavior that troubled Serge.

"What about the sea?"

"The sea never changes, does it? It's been rolling in and out, like this, since before we were born," said Leena slowly, pausing sentence after sentence as she closed her eyes and listened to immerse herself into the environment, to be part of it. "It's been here for eternity, it seems. It's probably seen many things, heard many things. It'll probably keep rolling in and out, long after our lifetime. Without a single change."

Serge agreed, but only in silence.

"Hey, Serge," called Leena as she turned up to look at Serge. "Remember we used to sit and talk like this when we were kids? With the gentle sea breeze and the tranquil sound of the waves?  Just the two of us, talking. Serge? Do you still remember... _that _day?"

"Yes, I do," he said softly, as if he almost didn't want to be heard.

"Really? You do?" Leena sounded as moved as she was delighted. "You haven't forgotten about the promise we made? That makes me... happy." 

As Serge expected, she took the promise seriously. Her indulgence in the bliss made him wonder how he would tell Leena that the promise he made meant nothing more than a promise made to a friend.

"But aren't memories strange?" she continued. "Just when you think that you've forgotten about something, it comes floating back into your heart. I guess it's just lying there in wait, waiting for that right moment. Why, we might even remember this very moment someday! In ten, twenty years, when we're all grown up and married, and have kids of our own. Then one day, when that time comes, I wonder what kind of adults we'll be? What kind of life will I be leading? I wonder what to make of this day? I wonder if we'll forget all that happened today?"

Leena paused for a while, seemingly waiting a response.

"I doubt so," Serge finally said.

"Yes, I hope you're right," Leena said with a smile in her voice.

An odd wind blew. He felt its strength tingle his cheeks and brushed his arm, but it failed to ruffle his fringe, flap his sleeves, and howl in his ears. It felt as though wind blew, and as though none did. It was probably the climate, Serge dismissed, which had been experiencing unpredictable changes in the recent years.

"Serge, there's been something I've wanted to say for a while now," Leena said, breaking Serge away from his climatic conjectures.

He turned to look at Leena, who was looking down at sand and tracing little circles on it. She had something to say, but was hesitating, something she didn't do often. The unlikeness of her troubled him more.

"_Serge_." 

A sudden, strange and mysterious voice out of nowhere startled Serge, as he looked anxiously about for the person who called him.

"What? What's wrong, Serge?" Leena asked curiously.

"_Serge_," came the strange voice again. It was that of a girl's, but not of Leena's. It spoke from far away, yet starkly audible. The voice was omni-directional, yet, it seemed to come from a definite source. He waited and hoped hear that voice speak once more. But he heard none. He stepped forward as he continued to turn and investigate his surroundings. But he saw nothing visually unusual. 

"Serge? Are you alright?" Leena asked as she stood up to her feet. 

He turned to Leena and wanted to ask her if she heard anyone calling. Before he could speak, he heard the washing of the waves. 

He turned to the sea, only to see, to his horror, the waves of the sea crawling towards him, defying all gravity, defying all logic earthly. The foam of the waves gained in size and grew from little specks of white to large bubbles huge enough to swallow him. He wanted to run, but his legs refused to move. He wanted to shout for Leena, but his mouth insisted that keeping shut was his best option. His vocal cords quivered feebly, without a tone of shriek audible to his own ears. 

The waves crept up to him, rose up above his eye-line and soon totally surrounded his field of vision. A huge swirling whirlpool of water and bubbles engulfed him, masking his hearing with a familiar yet horrifying sound -- the sound of him drowning and gasping for breath as he coughed bubbles of air from his mouth, like he must have experience ten years ago. The water whirlpool before him spun faster and faster. Its gyration vacuumed the sense from his mind and the soul from his body. He felt himself plunging, free-falling into an abyss, gradually overcome by a darkness that eventually engulfed him completely.


	4. Book 1 Chapter 3 The Change

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**3   The Change**

The sun hung high up in the late afternoon sky as it continued to scorch the lands of the earth with its intense heat while it cast the rays of life on to the natural flora that every other living thing on earth so depended on. The flying seagulls and birds continued to soar through the clouds and the skies, squeaking and chirping and declaring their existence above all living. The waves of the sea continued its routine of advancing and receding from the shores of the beach, filling the silence with sounds of serene splashes as its waters washed up the sands. 

Everything around Serge was black. 

What were these beautiful sounds? Was this heaven? It had to be. He must have died in all that hellish water that crept over to drown him. It was finally over. Death had finally claimed his soul, after having slipped from his deadly clutches twice.

So this was what it felt like to die.

He would never see his mother again. He would never see his father whom he hoped so much would return to him; and everyone else at the village again. It was all over. But at the very least, he would never have to go through again one traumatic accident after another, survived each but waited for yet another to come. Even if he were to be destined by fate to end his suffering in death and begin more in the next plane, he was resigned to it. At the very least, ghosts and spirits don't die. Or so he heard.

"What are you doing there, boy?" came a voice that surprised Serge. "It's dangerous to sleep out here."

He struggled to open his eyes against the hot, glaring sun. A familiar view of a white, silky beach unfolded itself in his vision, one that seemed to tell him that he was well alive. He sat up. His head spun as wildly and quickly as the skies in his vision were, verifying that his cerebral components functioned as they would, under such conditions. He shook his head hard, tried to regain soberness, only to see his vision blinded by flashes and shattering into fragments of dazzling colors. It took a while before the dizzy spell cleared, and when it did, Serge let out a sigh before turning to look towards the voice on his left.

It was an old man Serge recognized; one of the Arni villagers, one of the quiet elderly folks, whom he didn't know well. He never came up to Serge for a talk. Serge never did either. These two men could never hold a full conversation. Uttering half a word to each other was already too much for them, let alone asking each other's names. 

"You alright, boy?" asked the old man. "What on earth are you doing lying down, anyway? For a second there, I thought you might have been a dead body, washed ashore."

Serge looked around for Leena, but she was nowhere to be found. 

"Where's" -- Serge choked -- "where's Leena?"

"Where's Leena?" asked the old man in surprise. "You are the only one I see. Are you a friend of Leena's?"

Serge gazed back at the old man, surprised that this old man was not only talking a little more than usual today, that he was also a little more forgetful.

"I believe she's in the village, baby-sitting. Well, I'd best be on my way. Anyway, if you're looking for Leena, you should stop by the village. You know, you shouldn't be playing here, boy. Wouldn't want anything to happen to you, now."

The old man left with a smile. 

Serge looked up into the sky, gazing beyond its dome of blue. His mind wandered and wondered. He could not comprehend the strangest of encounters that he had just experienced. He saw the strangest of visuals that did not belonged to this world. He heard the most familiar of noises that should have ended more tragically than a blackout. The third encounter with Death and he escaped. It had him within its grasps but it refused to take him, as if it were bitter for the past failed attempts, and that it deemed necessary to taunt and toy with his body, soul and mind. Yet, there should be no reason why it did such. 

Exhausted, he surrendered to the mystery, relieved himself of the heavy thoughts and decided to call it day. There was nothing more important now than taking a good rest. 

He picked up his swallow and left for home.

"Welcome to Arni!" said a voice that greeted Serge as he stepped through the entrance into his home village. 

The sudden hospitality of the fellow villager stunned him, as did the surroundings that Serge's sense caught on to. Laid all over the roofs of the Arnian huts were beautiful flowers and colorful drapery. Gone was the hanging of dried fish that symbolized luck, the tradition that every Arnian had faithfully kept. The air smelled different with that of fresh green grass, and tinted with a teasing fragrance of lavender. The intense heat made breathing suffocating, a condition Arni never experienced before.

He had only been gone for less than half a day, but the village had undergone a major facelift. There were to be no celebrations anytime soon, not any that Serge knew of. Even if there were, Arni never had the tradition of decorating huts with flowers. Even if it had been decided so, it was impossible to transform the whole village into such in that short a time. But the surprise quickly faded. He found no reason to think deep into the Jacks that were springing up from the boxes one after another. He only had his mind on his bed. 

As he walked back to his house, he met Una who gave him a cold shoulder when normally Una walked up to Serge to initiate a quick chat. Una always had something new to say, no matter the time of the day, no matter how busy he was with his chores. Baffled by Una's indifference, Serge decided to call out to him.

"Hi," Serge greeted.

"Hi! Whoa, that's _some _weapon you've got there," said Una, pointing to Serge's double-bladed swallow.

"Oh, sorry," Serge apologized. He was puzzled at Una's reaction what should have been a usual sight.

"Are you new here?" asked Una, an eyebrow raised.

"What?" Serge expressed his surprise, wondering what Una could have meant. "Anyway," he calmed himself down. "Is Leena back?"

"Leena? I think she's at the pier, baby-sitting. Are you a friend of Leena's?"

Something _was _amiss.

"What are you talking about? She was with me at the beach earlier, but she left me there."

"I know I know," Una said, waving his right hand in expectation. "My sister still needs to work on her temper and those tantrums. Wait a minute, are you her boyfriend?" Una looked at Serge cheekily.

"No. Why are you acting so--"

"No? Just a friend then?" Una asked with a curious shrug.

"What are you talking about? Is this a joke?"

"This is _no_ joke! My sister really needs to work on her character," Una said, then sighed as he shook his head. "I'm sure if she gets herself a boyfriend, she'll act a little more ladylike."

"I--"

"Hey, look. I've got some chores to finish, so I can't talk to you. Bye!"

Una turned away from Serge and walked back to his house. Serge, who was still exhausted, shrugged and dismissed everything as a major conspiracy, a huge prank that would be revealed to him in due time, when the whole village would "surprise" him, and then everyone would drown in their own earnest laughter, before beginning the party proper, whatever it was. 

He entered the hut.

Gone were the beautiful, decorative carpets laid over the raw wooden floor. Gone were the beautiful curtains that his mother hung on both sides of the two windows in his house. In their places instead, were clotheslines from which dirty rags and cloth hung. And the familiar, clean and dusted living room with a healthy yellow ambient from the sunlight was no longer. In its place instead, was a dirty, cobwebbed, smelly sty with a gray, gloomy look. A hammock hung near a window at the end of the living room. 

The exhaustion found a reason to leave him, to leave behind a sudden void in his mind with which he could not think. The transformations made him anxious, his palms sweat and his teeth chatter. He stormed up the stairs anxiously to his room, hoping to see, hear and smell something -- anything -- that was his home.

What he saw brought no surprises, only a soft, numb shock that didn't quite make him scream but instead made him drop his jaws, completely dumbfounded. His bed was missing. In its place, were a few rotting crates on which a layer of dust had caked. Gone was the huge, round, yellow carpet his mother bought several months ago. In its place instead, was a cracked, wet, bug-infested floor that he spent so much effort to clean yesterday. Gone were the potted plants that he arranged in his room yesterday. So were the beautiful round shelves and his favorite collection of shells from Arni's beach, as was his rocking chair that he spent at least a half hour everyday, rocking his thoughts away on. 

A jumble of emotions stirred in his heart and a string of queries and hypotheses now flooded his mind. What was going on? Who did all these? Was his home robbed? And the most important question: where was his mother?

He breathed in deep, gathered his thoughts and composed his emotions. He laughed foolishly at himself and lauded his villagers for having pulled off such a stunt so well-engineered that it had him fooled, but not for long. Serge skipped down the stairs to the living room after deciding that he would inform everyone that he had seen through the joke. It was time for the act to stop, for the curtains to rise.

A stranger in his thirties, walked into the house.

"Huh? Who the--" the man asked, squinting at Serge. "What are you doing in my house?"

"What?"

"My house isn't a playground for you kids, alright?" the man said dryly. "Go play outside."

"What? But I live here!" Serge explained.

"Huh? You live here?"

"Yes! Together with my mom!" Serge replied truthfully.

"Your mom?"

"Yes. Marge. Did you see her?"

"Marge? Who the heck is that? I've lived in this house for five years now, but that name doesn't ring a bell."

"But I have never seen you!"

"I have never seen you either!" retorted the stranger, unimpressed.

"I am Serge. And I live here!" he asserted firmly.

"I have never heard of this name before!"

"But this is _my_ house!" Serge was a little impatient at the stranger who obviously failed to have the facts correct.

"Whatever with all your gibberish. Just get the hell out of here," said the man, just as impatient.

He walked towards Serge and shoved him out of his way.

"Hey, wait a minute! I live here!" Serge shouted, as the man walked to and rested lazily in the hammock at the end of the living room. "And where have you taken my mom to?"

"I said I don't know!" the stranger roared furiously. "You are such a pest. For the last time, I say, I've never heard of any Serge or Marge."

"But I..."

"Get out of here! I said!" roared the man, fury written on his face. He jumped to his feet, dragged Serge and threw him out of the house onto the grassy ground in the village. Serge fell onto his side, as the stranger slammed the door shut.

The commotion earned the noisy attention of his fellow villagers. Their eyes on him fell on his burning, flushed face, some in sympathy, most with wary. He swallowed, perspired, got to his feet, not daring to lift his head up to face the people who was family to him. They kept a distance from Serge and his menacing swallow, circled him and watched him as if they were watching a clown making a fool out of himself. They whispered and gossiped among themselves, eager to offer their most bizarre speculations about what happened before their eyes. No one came up to Serge to offer his or her counsel, as much as he had hoped. No one stepped out to direct the end of the theatrical drama that had been so real, so unpretentious, that he was beginning to be convinced that it was no joke.

His heart ached and his eyes watered. He tried to approach the villagers, but they avoided him like frightened roaches in the dark that scurried away from a burning torch that moved towards them. He looked for his mother but she was nowhere to be found, nowhere in the crowd. At least, though, she was not among those who stared at him as if they stared through him. He saw a faint glitter of hope at the pier. His childhood friend was standing there with her legs wide part, babysitting the kids like she was, early this afternoon. His eyes saw her back and that striking red dress that she wore today, but he saw a beacon as if it were calling him home. As he made his way to the pier, the crowd of villagers opened a path, as if seeing off a well-respected captain proudly making his way towards his ship.

But Serge was not proud. He was heartbroken.

The sky was clear and hopelessly cloudless, forecasting many more days and, perhaps, weeks of brutal heat. The sun burned through the consistent blue undeterred, baking the earth and its waters. The breeze was light, but hot, stifling and stinging to the unaccustomed nose. It seemed that even the weather was remarkably different.

Leena was standing near the edge of the wooden pier and gazing out into the oceans. She was fanning herself with one hand, wiping her forehead with another, hissing and cursing the weather all at the same time. Serge strode towards her, his back wet from the heat and the desperate need for answers. The creaks on the plank turned her head towards him. She looked at Serge, looked at his weapons and stepped back. Sensing her uneasiness, Serge stopped, five steps away from her.

"Leena--"

"How did you know my name?" she demanded.

Caught unawares, his heart fell, just as his jaw did. Words were getting stuck at the lump that had gathered in his throat. Soon, one too many strings of syllables struggled to get through that he found himself stammering uncontrollably.

"I... No... It's... There's... What's..."

His eyes misted. Her expression softened. 

"Could you please put that down, it looks... er... dangerous," she requested, pointing to his swallow.

"Sorry," he apologize and quickly put the weapon down as he was told. 

"How did you know my name again?"

"Leena, please," he urged with a stuffy nose as he eased forward towards Leena.

"Who are you? Have we met somewhere before? Are you from Termina?"

Her seriousness was driving him beyond desperation. 

"Leena, please--" 

"Hey, you!" interrupted Ricky, who was treading water in the sea, his finger pointing crudely at Serge.

Serge froze, looked around in confusion and then looked at Ricky.

"Yes, _you_!" Ricky shouted. "Don't be trying to pull any moves on our Leena, you jerk!" 

Now, his fellow villager called him a jerk. 

"Don't be silly!" she shouted. "Don't go swimming out too far now, you hear!?"

"Ooookay! Gotcha!"

"Kids," she said, shaking her head. "I guess kids will be kids. Don't worry about them."

She turned to Serge and studied him from top to toe, and so did Serge, studying himself intently from head to toe. Where she looked, he looked and adjusted, not knowing why he did so. 

"Hmm. You know? You look a lot like the boy who used to live next door to me."

Hearing Leena talk about "the boy next door" in the past tense only made Serge more frantic. The only "boy" who lived "next door" to Leena could only be Serge himself. 

"What was his name?" he could not help but ask.

"Why?" Leena defended. "Why do you want to know his name?"

"Tell me what happened to him."

"'What happened to him?' Why do you want to know? It's really none of your business, you know?" she snapped. 

He was stunned. For seventeen years, she had never spoken to him with a tone so alien, so terrifying that he found himself once again lost for words. For a short moment, he felt as if he was just pushed off an edge and free-falling from the sky. His heart pounded not from the fear of death, but from the fear of losing a friend. When that moment was over, he felt as if he had plummeted into a tangled net of emotions, bound in desperation and hopelessness, caught between heartbreaking pain and the inexplicable demeanors of his villagers that he had been trying so hard to believe was a joke.

Leena turned away from Serge and gazed blankly beyond the seas.

"That boy... he died," she said and paused, as if dramatically. "He drowned." She paused again. "When he was very young." Another pause. Each seemed to get longer by orders of magnitude. "This all happened ten years ago. Soon after, his mother passed away, too."

"He drowned. His mother passed away. Ten years ago." That sounded too familiar to him. Did he not nearly drown ten years ago? But was he not eventually found and saved? That was the only reason why he could have survived till today.

"I was still very young back then," she continued. "So I don't remember too well, but my mom says his name was..."

Serge closed his eyes, held his breath as he braced himself and waited for an eternity for the answer.

"Serge."

"But I'm Serge!" he opened his eyes, cried out instantly and pointed feverishly to himself. 

"You're Serge? Oh, stop that!" Leena retorted. "That's not even funny! The boy is dead, don't you understand?"

"That's impossible! That cannot be true! You are lying! Is this a joke? Tell me this _is _a joke. Could you all stop it! I have had enough! I've really had enough!"

For the first time, he let it all loose. His voice broke like a young boy who wailed for attention and insisted his sanity to a grown up who did hear but did not listen. His words boomed through his cords, past the lump that had mysteriously cleared, as if exploding in one breath all that he had kept to himself and all that he had been mum about for the past seventeen years of his quiet life.

"Why would I lie about something like that? You think I would be so cruel to make this up?" she snapped furiously. But her eyes were red with sadness.

His shoulders slumped. The lump returned.

She turned to the ocean again, and flicked a tear from her eye.

The net tightened. Its web ate into his heart. Not only was he unable to escape the clutches of it, he was cast a cold spell that seeped into his bones and chilled him out from within and froze him. 

The curtains lifted, the roles inverted. He was now the actor who stood on the stage of a fictitious world, telling a fictitious story to the real world. By the very remarks of his childhood friend, he had been cast out of her world as an extraneous soul. There was no joke, unless he was one. If there were any, it had been carried too far and too absurdly insensitive to whom it was played on. No sound man or woman would do such a terrible thing. At least he knew his own villagers would never. 

All that he remembered, held dearly to his heart, or simply took for granted had been taken from him against his will -- the discarded traditions; the ground-breaking fashion that came in lavenders and embroidered fabric and hung from the roofs of the village huts; the absence of the stubborn fish odor that would have taken weeks, if not months to rid. Even his mother's life had been robbed from the memory of these people, who were not as much unfamiliar to him as he was stranger to them. 

He died ten years ago, but he was standing here, after living out ten full years with his mother. His memories were still intact, fresh in his mind as if they had transpired yesterday. His physical body, which had eaten, drunk, breathed, was still alive and had grown past his supposed death at the age of seven, to a young adult of seventeen. Trapped in the net of emotions, he could work out the disjunction, the contradiction, the paradox of his existence and his death that provided a certain consolation: that it was the world and not him that had violated the laws of the universe. Trapped in the bigger net of reality, he was unable to shrug off that which manifested before his eyes.

"That boy. I guess I kinda liked him," Leena said and bit her lips. "If that boy were still alive today, I wonder what would've become of us?"

Serge could only do so much as to stare onto the planks of the wooden pier. The lines of thoughts hung like threads in his mind, with loose ends that could not be connected, and a great tangled mess that could not be freed.

"Sure is weird," she said, laughing softly at herself. "Why am I opening up to you like this? I only got to know you today."

A short pause followed.

"Well, I guess there's no use thinking about the past," she continued. "It's not like Serge is going to come back. Mom always tells me I shouldn't dwell on a lost loved one."

She breathed in deeply, let out a sigh and looked down as she used her feet to try to dig out a stone stuck in between the wooden planks. When the stone came loose, she kicked it into the water before turning to Serge.

"Actually, why don't you go visit his grave site?" she suggested. "You can find it up on Cape Howl. No one's been up there in a while."

A grave site. Serge nodded like a zombie.

"Well, I still have some chores to finish. Sorry I blew up at you like that," she said apologetically. "Goodbye, stranger."

"T-Thank you." Serge struggled.

Leena shook her head at him with a smile.

He picked up his swallow and walked back to the village out onto the little beach beside it, slouching and head hanging low, utterly devastated. 

He sat down on the burning sands, knees folded to his chest. The heat cooked his bottom, burned his bare arms, but he was contented to be stung by the pain in mind and body with a warped sense of pleasure. 

He was still a disbeliever. He found it difficult and refused to accept all of it. Part of him believed, or perhaps, hoped that it was still a joke. He was bitten by a panther-demon at three, nearly drowned at seven, nearly drowned again today, and now the whole of his village had turned against him. He realized that he was stranded, left all alone in a world he didn't belong. There was no one to turn to, no one who was willing to offer a listening ear. His mother was gone. Leena was just as good as. He had no friends, no family, no place left to call home. 

Tears welled up in his eyes.

"Where's everyone?" he asked quietly as he rested his forehead on his knees and started to weep. "Where's mom?"

Serge opened his eyes. His head still rested on his knees. The tears had dried but his cheeks were sticky. 

He must have fallen asleep, he thought. He lifted his head and turned to Arni. He hoped that it was a terrible nightmare that he had just woken up from. He hoped to see the Arni that he was so familiar with, the Arni that didn't sport decorations on their huts, the Arni that hung fish, the Arni that would welcome him with open arms and treat him as family.

He saw otherwise. His hopes were dashed.

So he had drowned after all, ten years ago, at Opassa Beach. The dreaded past had caught up to him and devoured his world and everything clean of him, save for his mortal being. But, what was he to make of the memories of early today, yesterday and the past ten years? This proof of survival that remained fresh in his mind was without a doubt a contradiction to the story told by Leena. Contradictions, paradoxes and the likes cannot exist, like the two sides of the same coin that cannot face up, not at the same time at the same place. He could not have died ten years ago and stand upright ten years later today. Some event must have triggered the change as such. Determined for the answer, he recapped the day's events.

He had woken up this afternoon and had himself lectured by his mother for breaking the promise to meet Leena. After leaving home, he had headed for the Chief's for his daily morning prayers before he headed to the pier to meet up with Leena. She had told him to collect scales for her necklace, to which he had gladly agreed. He had proceeded to the Lizard Rock, but not before making a detour to Cape Howl. At the Rock, he had caught a Komodo lizard, but had ended up being hunted by the mother lizard. He had slain her in defense and had proceeded to the beach to wait for Leena.

He jumped up to his feet. His depression receded and the recollection slapped him awake. A mysterious, omni-present voice of a lady, had called out to him, as if in beckon. Water from the sea had crept up hellishly to him, swallowed him whole and gladly knocked him out. When he came to, he found himself in a world that had changed, defaced beyond his recognition. 

It _had_ to be that! The strangest of things had streamed into his life like a long river, the most surprising of surprises turning at one meander after another, and the most devastating cascading like rapids at a waterfall. But, the meanders must have a first; the river had to start somewhere. And Serge was convinced he knew where. 

Wasting no time, he picked up his swallow and ran to Opassa Beach.

The sky that remained stubbornly cloudless was a smooth gradient of burning orange to a dull, doleful grayish-blue. A star or two peered through the edge of the orange radiance, its light pale in comparison to the evening sun that was due to set in about an hour, turning on its unforgiving heat to another unfortunate part of the world. The sea breeze was slow, almost stagnant as the relative land and sea temperatures gradually reversed as do the direction of the breeze.

The impression in the sand made by Serge where he lied unconscious earlier today still remained. It was the same spot where he stood and was swallowed by the water that crept up to him.

There had to be something here, although he didn't know what to expect. He inspected the sand for visual differences between where he lied and elsewhere. He found nothing of interest. He bent to feel the sand with his bare hands for textural differences. He felt none. He used his swallow to dig and probe into the sand. Still, he discovered nothing. He pulled out Red Element beads and cast fires all over the sand. Balls of fire erupted but they burned at nothing. He cast Whites, lending its holy strength to uncloak the unholy. He cast Blacks, forcing the invisible to cast its shadow. He cast Blues, Greens, Yellows, but the Elements did nothing more than visually demonstrate its expected arcane effects. He exhausted his ideas, but he saw nothing revealed that might have offered the slightest answer to his doubts.

Serge decided to try to reenact the event, aware that this might introduce more changes. But stuck in such a world as this, there could be no change worse the past erasing him from it altogether. With nothing else left, his life mattered naught. On the other hand, he might just win a chance to turn his village back to the old, turn strangers to friends. He might just win his life back. It was a gamble, only it wasn't. The risks involved weren't risks, for he had all to gain, and nothing to lose. 

He stood at the same spot where he did earlier today, swallow on the sand beside him. He waited for the mysterious voice and the swirling waters. Nothing happened. He shifted his body slightly to the left. He waited again. Nothing happened. He tried standing around the spot, changing his position slightly each time. Still, nothing happened. After several tries, Serge finally gave up and fell to his bottom, almost resigning to the cruel twist of fate.

He died ten years ago. This parasitic thought played and replayed in his mind, as if his own mind tried to compel him into accepting the popular version of the "truth." But part of him still couldn't believe it, or rather, refused to believe it. Part of him still hoped that it would all be a joke, a dream, something he would wake up from.

He heart wrenched and his eyes started to water as he looked out into the evening sea, thinking of everyone in his village. He recalled the years he spent in Arni. He recalled how his mother tried to coax him into talking every dinner, and how he was always secretly impressed that she always had so much to say. He recalled how Leena always cooked, and how it was customary to start the creation of a new dish with burnt ingredients. He recalled the carefree days as being part of the three-member "gang," when he learnt how Una always liked to badmouth his own sister. He recalled the new-year festivities that brought the whole community together in merry celebrations that were all about having fun feasting and enjoying watching others make a lot of noise. 

Homesickness never felt worse than it did now. 

Serge made up his mind and wiped his tears clean. The situation was unacceptable. He wanted to have all of his memories back as realities. He was not about to become a fictitious character in an unbelievable tale, an actor in a made-up world, a joke for others to laugh at. Something or someone stole everything away from him. Whatever or whoever it was, he would find means to have the change reversed at all costs. He would start his investigation at his own grave. He might find more clues there, he might not. But anything was better than sitting around and hoping for things to right themselves. 

Charged with determination and a fresh face, Serge stood up, picked up his swallow and headed over to Cape Howl.


	5. Book 1 Chapter 4 A Reminder of One's Se...

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**4   A Reminder of One's Self**

The sun had begun to set. Its huge fireball burned a streak of red that stretched the horizon and rippled in the dense heat, as if the horizon itself were on fire. The pale blue end of the gradient was now a splash of vivid navy on the eastern skies, as night swept in to relieve the day, to relieve El Nido. Plenty more stars have emerged, dotting the clear, falling night with steady glimmers. The two full moons hung high overhead, their glows nowhere as empowering, glares nowhere as blinding as the fiery sun. The white moon, obscured by a darker, smaller red moon, emanated a halo gentle to the eyes and warm to the heart. They were the beauty of the night sky, though not the savior of the lands that were still cooking from the heat.

A lone eagle soared through the western skies, its wings spread in gentle flight, pressing ahead to its home nest. A lone Beachbum sat atop a rock, watching the sun with silent eagerness as it rolled off the edge of the world. A lone toad croaked in the undergrowth along the sand path towards Cape Howl. A lone teenager dragged his tired feet towards his own grave, towards his own past.

Serge made his way to the outcrop veiled in fiery amber of the sunset. He approached the rock protruding from the ground that stood the way he knew. After he braced himself for the worst, he walked to the protrusion and bent down to inspect the words:

_Rest in Peace._

_Our beloved Serge, age 7._

_No one can ever take anything away from him._

_No one can ever give anything to him._

_What was given to us by the Sea,_

_Has only returned to it._

Serge read with his jaws hanging, but the earlier shell-shocking devastations reduced this one to nothing more than chills running down his spine. Ten years ago, he almost drowned, but was found washed up ashore alive. He was destined to good luck for the rest of his life, as his villagers (before the world changed) commented, after the two occasions he walked back triumphantly from the face of Death. It seemed that He who had attempted to take his soul twice had now chosen, instead, to take his life. Not the life which was defined by the beating of heart, but that which was the experience of living.

He was dead. This was a fact, but one that failed to shake his resolve. He was still determined to win the gamble against the cards of fate, for he knew that he did not live the past ten years in his dream, that they were all real. He would be able to find them back. 

Somehow.

"So you must be Serge," a voice came from behind, "the ghost of the boy who died ten years ago."

Serge stood up and turned around to come face to face with the voice who spoke the painfully true reminder. Three men walked towards him until they stopped twenty feet away from him, sealing his path to freedom in the woods beyond. His back faced the edge of the outcrop, off which would lead to a shattering death on the rocky shores below.

The leader wore long blue hair and a white sleeveless kimono-styled robe over a muscular build. He stared at Serge with a frown on his face and a pair of brows furrowed in displeasure, unflinching, uncompromising, as if his expression was etched and permanent. Wielding a fearsome-looking single-bladed axe that complemented his frown, the man appeared intent and serious. Yet, the stern eyes that reflected the glare of the setting sun reflected warmth, compassion and distress from behind the front of cold.

Two guards flanked his sides, dressed in unpolished, unflattering gold-plated armor over a light-grayish kilt that reached the knees. The uniform was of some regime familiar, one he could not instantly recall. One of the guards was short, fat and held an axe smaller than the leader's. When he walked, his body swayed outrageously from side to side as his metal parts of his armor clanked noisily. The other was tall, skinny and held a longer axe that was as long as he was tall. His silly, sleepy face, coupled with his long, thin, black moustache, would have brought Serge to his knees -- laughing -- if not for the cold numbness to all emotions brought about by the shocks earlier. 

Serge retreated towards the edge of the outcrop.

"Don't move!" the leader of the three demanded. "There's no escape that way. All you have to do is come with us."

"But, Sir Karsh," said the skinny guard with much excitement. "Do you think it is truly true that this chap is a ghost? He seems like a perfectly perfect young boy to me."

"That doesn't matter," replied Karsh. "We found the boy here, just as _he_ said we would, didn't we?"

The fat and the skinny guards nodded to Karsh in unison.

"Now seize him!" Karsh ordered.

"Hold your sea horses!" shouted a girl's voice that was so boisterous, it could pass off easily for a man's.

Serge looked up to see a young, slender girl standing on a low cliff several feet above looking down at them. She rested her weight on her right, her right hand at her waist. She sported a blonde ponytail and a unique ornamental tear-shaped necklace around her neck. She was dressed in skimpy, pinkish cotton under a striking red that hugged tightly her well-blossomed assets and revealed her well-toned waist. With just as revealing a skirt that bared her lower limbs, this girl seemed proud to flaunt her feminine curves. The tough front and a boyish posture she carried complemented, rather than contradicted, her bold dressing. A dark blue scabbard, on a belt wrapped her waist, protected her exquisite, hand-crafted dagger that was demonstration this girl was no easy pushover.

The young girl smiled and nodded at Serge as if she greeted an old friend. Serge found her strangely familiar. 

"Who the--" 

The young girl leapt off the cliff and landed onto the sandy ground in front of Serge, swift as she was slender. 

"Out of the way, missy!" demanded Karsh as he swept his left arm before himself. "You don't want to get hurt, now, do you?"

"Shut your trap!" swore the young girl arrogantly. "You're the ones who had better get out of the way." She spoke with an accent not of El Nido, and with haste that melded words into a string of mumbles.

"You have a problem!?" the fat guard said with a shaky voice. "Do you have a shaking idea who you're dealing with, missy?"

"That's enough!" roared Karsh as he shifted his gaze back to Serge. "Listen up, junior! Our orders are to take you in, and we don't want to hurt you. Just come with us. Or else, this axe of mine will have to do the talking."

"For crying out loud!" the young girl swore at the top of her voice as she slapped her palm to her forehead. "Would you just shut up and get on with it! I will kick your sorry arses so hard you'll kiss the moons!"

The young girl drew her dagger as Serge raised his swallow.

"You'll regret you ever said that, missy!" Karsh said, as he signaled his guards forward. The fat and the skinny guards looked at each other and then at Serge. They moved into their fighting stance and inched slowly towards Serge. 

After an emotionally devastating day, these comedians had arrived to provide comic relief. The fat moved slowly, but his cumbersome body swayed outrageously. The thin bopped up and down with every step he took. The two danced in unison, as if to some inaudible rhythm only the two of them could hear. The fat growled and tried to frown as angrily as he could, but the more effort he put in, the more comical he looked. In face of such attackers, Serge could not help but let out a soft chuckle. The young girl turned her head to face at him, her expression cross. Serge gulped, gripped his swallow and prepared to defend himself.

"Capture him!" was the order. Karsh lifted his axe with his hands and charged at the young girl, roaring furiously. While they began to exchange blows, Karsh's guards stared at Serge, at themselves and back at Serge until they finally decided to run to Serge. When they were close enough (still about ten feet away, actually), they stopped, straightened their body, and adjusted their weapons and tried hard to look even mightier than before. Then, they started inching, again, to Serge.

Karsh swung his axe at the young girl's head. She ducked to avoid while she thrust her dagger towards Karsh. Using the momentum from his axe, Karsh turned his body sideward to dodge the incoming dagger. With a dexterous twist, the young girl pulled her dagger up towards Karsh to slash at his chest. Karsh withdrew his axe to cover his chest, his back arched in defense. Sparks flew as metals clashed. 

The fat and the skinny stopped about five feet before Serge. The fat swung his axe down at Serge's head while the skinny thrust his spear at Serge's chest, both actions coordinated, as if choreographed. Serge sidestepped to his left to avoid. The guards withdrew their weapons, and continued their attack, duplicating the move of the first. Serge jumped to his right. The fat and the skinny stared at each other, as if bewildered at Serge's cleverness. After a long while of silent communication, if any, they withdrew their weapons and continued their relentless attacks. Left. Right. Left. The guards executed the same maneuver again and again, their feet planted into the ground.

The young lady remained one-on-one with Karsh. She slashed her dagger from right to left at Karsh's chest. He turned his axe head down and withdrew it to his chest for cover. The dagger struck the axe's hilt with a loud crank and yet more sparks flew. Karsh roared and swung the head of the axe up and forward into the lady's face. The young lady arched backwards, twisted swiftly to her right, reached out her right hand to the ground to support her fall. The moment her right hand touched ground, she roared as she shifted her momentum into her legs and flung them both up and into Karsh's chest. The impact from her kick and the momentum of his still swinging axe knocked a defenseless Karsh back. He fell on his back with a cry of pain, his axe slipping and crashing to the ground a few feet behind him. The young lady got to her feet, yelled, lunged at Karsh's side as her right hand gripped and drew her dagger for a slit at his throat. Karsh rolled promptly to his left leaving the dagger slashing into the ground, whipping sand into the air. He rolled back and heaved with his both hands the young lady, felling her to her left. Seizing the window of opportunity, Karsh stood up and bolted for his axe.

Serge made a final jump to his right on their next attack, as he swung his body and his swallow a full round to his right towards the fat. The swallow slashed through the fat's gold-plated armor with a huge crash, missing his chest by barely a finger. The impact refused to nudge him off his feet, however, for he was too heavy. The fat looked in horror at his damaged armor. Flustered, he began to sway his clumsy body violently from side to side. The skinny was so astonished that Serge beat his comrade that he stood rooted to the ground frozen, looking frightfully at Serge with his jaws dropped.

"S-Sir Karsh!" shrieked the fat as he continued his swaying performance. "I say we shake it on out of here, so that we can live to fight another day!"

Serge stared at the skinny guard whose eyes looked fearfully back, whose legs wobbled like jelly. Serge thrust his swallow into air and threatened another attack, at which the skinny one gulped hard. 

"These are no ordinary brats we're dealing with!" the fat cried out in shameful defeat as Karsh picked up his axe and prepared for another swing at the young lady. The fat turned tail and dashed between Karsh and the young lady and then into the woods. Karsh held back, momentarily stunned by the sudden appearance of his comrade in the line of his coming swing.

Seeing his comrade run away, the skinny withdrew his spear and bolted straight for the woods. But he tripped and fell hard on his face. "Wait for me!" he cried as he struggled to his feet and bopped up and down towards escape as his voice of a clown faded into the woods. 

"Damn cowards!" Karsh scorned at the two, before he turned to the lady and said sorely, "As for you, missy, we won't forget this!"

Karsh turned away from them and headed back into the woods.

"Losers!" she mocked loudly. "I'll be happy to take you on anytime!"

Serge stared at the girl who had come to his rescue. Help from a stranger was something he had almost forgotten existed in this changed world. He was appreciative, but the crude mannerisms and the way she carried herself under the skimpy outfit disgusted him. Yet, he had to admit that from behind the toughness stood out an extremely beautiful woman. And it was her toughness that made her charming just as it made her repulsive. 

The girl turned to and walked towards him as she slid the dagger back into its scabbard.

"You alright, mate?" she asked bluntly with almost no hint of concern in her voice. "Serge. Your name's Serge, ain't it?"

"Y-yeah," Serge replied and swallowed hard. His heart began to pound heavily at his ears. "H-how about you?"

"Oh, me? My name's Kid," she replied, peering up to her fringe and brushing dirt and sand from it. That done, she fixed her eyes back at Serge. "Nice to meet you. I just couldn't stand by and watch those blokes gang up on you like that. They just pissed the bloody hell out of me. By the way, why was that mob after you?"

"Thank you, but I don't know either," he replied with a shrug. "I have never met them before."

"What do you mean you've never met them before?" She raised her voice as she walked forward, bent towards Serge and peered into his eyes. 

Serge arched back to keep his distance from her, who was too close for his comfort. He came to realize that he was being stared upon, and that he had trouble taking his eyes off her as well. He saw her face behind the white finger-painted at the cheeks, roughened and tough, filthy but alluring. He saw through those eyes of pearl blue that stared into his own, and saw in it, himself in the warmth of her company. He felt her breath tingled at his lips and teased and toyed with his senses that made him male. His heart raced quickly, his breathing went out of rhythm, his face flushed hot as if the sun's heat still stung. Embarrassed at himself and his hormones for firing up at the wrong time, he plucked his eyes away from Kid.

"Ah, forget it!" she surrendered noisily as she straightened up. 

Relieved, he stood upright comfortably. 

"Hey, Serge! How about you and me team up for a while? That Karsh fellow isn't going to just leave you alone, that's for sure! And to tell you the truth, I'm new to these islands. It's pretty lonely traveling around here on me own."

He was about to say yes when he decided that words ruled by the heart should not be made in haste. He ransacked his mind for reasons to reject his own instincts, to reject her kind offer. He found one eventually and chided himself for faltering at such a task so simple. She being loud-mouthed was reason good enough, for his ears were already beginning to ring from her shouting and yelling.

"So, how about it, Serge?" Kid said as she turned around and smacked Serge hard with the back of her hand on his chest. "Perhaps it was fate that we would meet up like this."

Serge grimaced. She was the benefactor, but he was reluctant in returning the favor in the form of company and a punching bag, or that's what he forced himself to think.

"Er, no," Serge said resolutely.

"Hang on! Are you telling me that you are going refuse the company of a lonely, vulnerable, sweet little girl?" Kid strained her voice into a tone soft and gentle. She bit her lip, slouched, brushed her end of her ponytail at her cheeks, tried to act dainty but failed miserably.

Serge gaped at her in bewilderment then shook his head in disgust.

"You sure there, mate?" Kid said, back to her loud self. "You might live to regret it."

"No, thank you, _man_!" Serge said, complete with sarcasm.

"Well, have it your way, mate!" She walked away from Serge to the woods. "I'll be heading up north to Termina. That's where those blokes come from, in case you want to know. It'll be getting dark pretty soon. I suggest you go find a place to shack up for the night. Well, see you!" 

She bolted and disappeared into the woods, her steps silent and swift. 

Serge heaved a sigh of relief. After indulging in the newfound peace and quiet for a while, he turned back and walked to the stone protrusion. He bent down, gritted his teeth and read the last two lines of the inscription again. 

_What was given to us by the Sea has only returned to it._

North was where he would go, too. Serge had to investigate the identity of Karsh, whom Serge was convinced had knowledge of his death ten years ago. The two guards donned the uniform that spoke of some underground regime that had involved itself in this matter. He knew that there was a greater power at work than the waves that swallowed him, his life and the world around him. He knew that there was an enemy more tangible than the omnipresent Death, who must seek more than to transform the life of a lowly village peasant. He needed to know Karsh's role, and especially how the regime behind him was responsible for Serge's current plight, and where they had hidden his mother. 

The sky was getting dark, reminding Serge that he had better be home soon. He realized he really had none, but at this hour, any roof would do. Without the tents and the instincts to survive in the wild, the only place he could return to was Arni, the only place that was familiar. 

Serge stood up and walked slowly back to the village. He would find his way to Termina tomorrow.

Nightfall sees the parting of some. The last rays of the sun disappeared below the distant horizon and dragged along with it the cape of blue across the huge dome above. The last of the flocks had departed for the last flight to their destination. 

Nightfall sees the coming of others. The silver and the red moons to which the owls woke, the wolves howled. The gentle waves of the sea became louder, clearer now, as if during the day, the sun gave light to the earth in return for the sounds of nature. This nightfall saw the coming of darkness to which Arni had fallen; fallen under the shadow of the night which Arnians strove to defeat with candles and oil lamps; fallen to some hideous, shady plot that no Arnian could defeat; a plot that turned the whole village against Serge. 

Most of the villagers had retreated to their homes. Some of them would already be asleep by now, if they could tolerate the racket from the lively tavern. Those who were not asleep were in their own huts having their dinner or enjoying a family gathering. Others would be at the tavern for their version of gathering with booze and groundnuts.

From the village entrance, Serge could faintly make out the village center under the pale double moonlight and the yellow rays that streamed out of the tavern beside the village entrance. The crowd inside made racket so loud it could wake the Dragon Gods who lived on the Dragon isles, if they were still around. The din would turn down as the night went on, when the booze and fatigue finally set in. Until then, they drank, sang, played the banjo and the drums, joked, laughed and exchanged stories, news and the most absurd gossips of the current. 

Serge walked and entered the tavern, and was greeted with an elliptical wooden signboard that wrote 'Cafe Fleur,' pinned up near the counter. Oil lamps painted the tavern's wooden interiors and its customers a dull ambient of yellow. Dry, withered vines of roses of blue, lavenders of dull purple and ferns of green drooped from a fishing net under the straw ceiling. Potted plants flourished at every corner of the tavern. Cloth posters of food, promotions, advertisements, announcements of major events around the El Nido archipelago hung on all walls. A short flight of steps led from the back of the tavern to the small, cramped inn rooms.

Serge's presence silenced the din and invited attention from the tavern crowd, Arnians and non-Arnians. Most of them stared at him; others, at his double-bladed swallow. All kept a straight face. Their grim eyes were the archer's bow, from which arrows of the arctic cold fired and pierced into his heart and his flesh. He quivered with fright, cold and a pain that had no language to describe. He found his breathing quickened and his heart pounding, as if he were struggling for air to make up that which he lost to the mortal wounds. 

Plucking courage and his foot off the floor, he inched slowly towards the counter, where a waitress, youthful, dressed in a white dress and a brown apron stood. 

"Room for you, sir?" she asked politely. 

"Y-Yes," Serge replied, his voice trembling. "A r-room, p-please."

"Anything else, sir?"

Serge felt his trembling hand to his pouch of cash. "I'd have the least expensive s-set dinner, p-p-please."

"Take a seat, sir. It'll be ready in a moment."

The crowd talked among their own selves as Serge took his seat at an empty table. He was at the center of attention, the central theme of their discussion that was being passed on from one table to another in silent whispers. He felt the oil lamps in the room focused on him, and the rest of the tavern slowly shrouded itself in darkness. The faces that seemed displeased and wary of his presence faded from his view. He heard only the whispers thundering unintelligibly at his ears, and the sounds of the crashing of pan and ladle and of his meal being prepared. He tried to pull himself together, to lift his head confidently for he did no wrong. But he found that the muscles in his neck failed him and let his head fall and hang loosely, as if it were axed by an executioner, but axed poorly. He tried to find composure amidst the unwanted attention. But he found that it had departed, like his mother, his childhood friend, and everything he held dearly to his heart.

"Can I?" asked politely a familiar voice.

The daydream -- the nightmare -- burst like a bubble and gave him air to breathe. The cold faces that had stared through Serge now smiled amongst their beer-buddies. Toasts were raised, nuts were tossed and mugs were overturned and proudly slammed onto the fragile wooden table top. The crowd had decided that Serge posed no threat, conveniently forgotten him and was now drowned in its own racket. There were others, though, a minority of them, who were lone travelers, who stared and cast suspicious glances while they sipped at their mug.

Serge turned to Leena, who had already assumed the given permission and taken her seat beside him. She was just out of the bath for her red hair was wet and glimmering and her fragrant jasmine refreshingly sweet. She appeared uncomfortable. Her eyes were focused intently on an oil lamp at the center of the round table, her hands tucked into the skirt between her legs, her body shifting restlessly about on the wooden stool.

The waitress arrived with the set meal that was a mug of water, a huge bowl of barbecued chicken and baked potatoes that simmered and smelled delicious.

"Enjoy!" the waitress said with a smile. She cast a cheeky glance and a wink at Leena who managed to slap the waitress on her arm before she left the table and returned to her work. 

A sudden growl from his tummy reminded Serge that he hadn't eaten for the day. For the moment, he cast the feelings of many ills behind, and dug hungrily into his meat and potatoes when he heard a soft, sweet giggle to his side. He turned to Leena and caught her giggling before she realized Serge was looking and stopped. She bit her lip tight and turned back to the oil lamp, controlling her laughter.

"Is something wrong?" he mumbled with a mouth full.

"Don't talk with food in your mouth," she reprimanded with a straight face that was trying hard not to giggle.

Serge nodded and went back to his food to finish the onslaught. The meal was satisfying, for it not only satiated his hunger, it took his mind off the day's events for that moment. It also made him burp boorishly. 

"Why, you look like a pig!" Leena joked.

He burped again.

"Was that enough for you?" she asked.

"Yes. More than enough."

He took a deep breathe and heaved a long, quiet sigh. He took a sip of water from the mug and then drifted to his thoughts and the memories that had taken ten whole years to accrue, ten real years to experience. He recollected the days that brought smiles to everyone's faces and tears to everyone's eyes. He understood and could still feel the emotions he shared with the villagers and those he kept to himself. He recalled the birth of newborns and the passing of the elderly that surely must have happened. 

The contradiction seemed like a huge cloak pulled over his villagers' eyes, blinding them from the truth. He wondered which person would have that a great power of magic in this day who could orchestrate such a massive feat. Real magic, he heard, had been lost since the ancient kingdom of Zeal, which was rumored to have existed some twelve thousand years ago but later mysteriously vanished from the face of the earth. The only real magic that existed today was that of the Elements, the very essence of the earth, which he assumed was incapable of such unearthly transformation. 

"Serge, right? It feels kind of odd calling you that," said Leena. "You look glum. Care to share?"

"I don't know. I really don't know what's going on."

Leena remained silent, her eyes fixed on Serge as if waiting for him to continue. Serge ran through in his heavy, burdened mind the long and shocking day, and each new event that was a bigger surprise than the last.

"Leena?" he said, gazing into the lamplight. While everyone else in the tavern continued their chattering and laughing, he fell into a world that belonged to no one except to two of them. He listened and spoke only to her.

"Yes?" said Leena. The giggles were gone. Her expression was serious.

"I don't know how to put it," he said slowly, his tone heavy and monotonous.

"Take your time."

"I lost everything today."

Leena nodded.

"I... used to... I live in Arni village."

"What?" 

Leena's persistent doubt came as no surprise, but it came as a disappointment, too.

"Just this morning, I woke up in my room. My room was in the house beside yours."

"What?" she almost shrieked. 

"We made plans for our summer program. No, _you _made plans for our summer program, don't you remember?" 

"I don't think--" 

"We arranged to go down to the Lizard Rock, to collect Komodo Lizard scales for your necklace. But I woke up late, and for that I apologize. I overslept because I was up late cleaning my room last night."

"You don't have to apologize--"

"It was mom who woke me up. I even remember she told me not to make you wait."

"Your mom?" She raised an eyebrow, completely baffled.

"Yes. My mom. I went to the pier to look for you. You were there watching the kids. You said you couldn't go with me to get the scales yet, because you had to baby-sit. You told to me to go on ahead and that you would meet me later."

"Right." 

"I got the scales and waited for you at Opassa. When you arrived, I gave you the scales and you commented how pretty the scales they were. Then you sat and talked about the sea, about memories and about growing up. It was then I heard a voice."

"A voice?"

"Yes. A strange voice. It seemed I was the only one who heard it. You didn't."

"Go on."

"Then a huge wave crawled up to me. Before I knew, I blacked out. When I came to, everything changed."

"What changed?"

"The village looks different now. I discovered I died ten years ago. You told me mom passed away, too. And you... don't even recognize me."

"But--"

"I went to Cape Howl. Visited the grave -- my grave. Three men came up to me. Their leader was Karsh and the other two his guards. They seemed to know something, and were expecting me. They called me a- a-" -- Serge struggled for the difficult word -- "ghost of the boy who died ten years ago."

"A ghost?" Leena asked slowly, disbelievingly.

"You don't believe me?" asked Serge.

"I..." Leena hesitated.

"Go ahead, Leena. Just tell me what you think."

"I am not really sure. It seems to me you hit your head or something."

Her reply was as straight as it was hurtful.

"No!" she quickly corrected. "What I meant to say was: I think it seems like you had some kind of accident and hurt yourself. You're really someone else, but you think you're the Serge who died ten years ago."

"I don't blame you," he said sadly, still staring into the lamplight.

"I'm sorry!" Leena sounded both apologetic and guilty. "I didn't mean--"

"I want my Arni back, Leena. I want my mother, you and my family of Arni back!" he said firmly. "I must get to the bottom of this. I think I will head north to Termina tomorrow, where I heard this Karsh can be found. There should be leads there, I'm sure."

Serge finished his mug of water.

He had spoken his heart and shared his troubles. He had never spoken so much in so little time, not even to his mother before everything changed, before she was taken away. He never understood how troubles could be poured out like water could. He never realized how they could flush the anxiety, the depression and the despondence like water flushed dust and dirt. The dust would return, and so would the ill-feelings. But at least for a short moment, one could be set free. Indeed, his heart was lighter, his mind freer. 

Leena still didn't believe him. He was grateful nonetheless that she would even listen.

"Thank you, Leena," Serge said gratefully. "Thank you very much."


	6. Book 1 Chapter 5 The Lost Friend

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**5   The Lost Friend**

Leena blew out the candle, tucked herself into the bed and kicked her blanket to the floor. The events in the day disturbed her and left her confused. When she opened her eyes, she heard the words spoken by the young boy replay clearly in her mind, as if he now sat by her and spoke at her ears. When she closed her eyes, mental images of him sitting at the tavern flooded her mind and became her eyes behind those weary eyelids.

_I live in Arni village._

He had been hesitant, but certain. He dressed in Arni's fashion, talked with Arni's accent, but he had walked into the lives of Arnians who had never seen him and he had insisted that he belonged within. He had spoken of his mother with pride and with forlornness, like a certain neighbor would have when he still lived some ten years ago.

_You made plans for our summer program, don't you remember?_

She used to, but that was before the boy named Serge passed away ten years ago, drowned at sea, washed up at the beach. It had been so long that she had forgotten that her summers were indeed of such, with week-long programs that she painstakingly scheduled months before. Those yesteryears of fun and happiness spent with her childhood sweetheart had departed with his tragic, mysterious death. She recalled crying her heart out for several days after his death, crying to the Goddess of Fate whom she felt was too cruel to take the life of an innocent boy only seven years of age. Now, she kept her lonely summers drowned in the chores of the necessary and the mundane that were to her, wine that drowned her loneliness.

_We arranged to go down to the Lizard Rock, to collect Komodo Lizard scales for your necklace._

Accessories made from Komodo Lizard scales had been once a fashion craze in Arni. When the romantic had showered their loved ones with hand-made necklaces, bracelets, anklets as gifts, Leena had wondered what it would have been between herself and Serge like if he were still alive. But Komodo Lizard accessories had become out-of-fashion these days, for the dwindling of the lizards in the recent years forced the trendy to other alternatives. Still, it would be sweet if this Serge had done it, but nothing of the sort he had claimed happened.

_A ghost from the boy who died ten years ago._

The captor who had called this boy a ghost must have had his eyes blanketed, for this boy who called himself Serge was human, made of flesh and blood and tears in his eyes. This boy had the shadow of a person, the breath of a living and did not walk through walls, fall through floors and certainly did not swivel around places in thick, eerie mists of white. But she could tell that he had struggled with those words that must have hurt and pained him deeply.

_Do you believe me?_

Serge had died ten years ago. That was an irrefutable fact.

This boy's story was incredulous, one that she could never have imagined to be true. Something must have happened to this boy that robbed him of his senses and replaced his mind with memories that had never been. She had read in such fiction where it had been often written that after a trauma to the head, the injured lost memories in part or in whole, or recalled things that never had come to pass. She lifted the idea from these stories and articulated them in words to Serge, whose look had fallen sullen by the time she finished. She was sorry for being so tactless, as she had been in the presence of others.

Still, there was no truth to Serge's story, for one could not have died in the past and still lived today. He was wrong, but did he lie?

Leena got up from her bed and walked over to the window in her room. Resting her chin on her hands over the window ledge, she gazed out into the starry night.

When she saw him earlier today, her heart moved for him, not of sympathy but of familiarity that seemed to have come from a place far beyond the stars. When she came to know that Serge returned in the evening, she found herself washing and dressing up to meet him, uncertain of where the encounter might lead and of how it might end. It stirred in her spiritless heart a subtle current of affection when Serge spoke his, as if she listened to a long-lost friend confide his troubles over a cup of jasmine tea.

The double full-moons hung up high in the sky: one silver, and the other a dark crimson red. They cast their reflection on the sea water whose waves seemed to shatter them into a million pieces of tiny light sparkles that joined those of the stars in the sky above. Never changing, their brightness never faltering, the two moons traveled the skies together every night until they disappeared into the blue of the day. In the tale that her mother once told her, that she so believed in, there used to be only the silver moon until the crimson red came from far away skies to see the silver through his life. Perhaps she was the silver moon that was lonely, and Serge was the red who had traveled from another heaven to join her on the roads.

Perhaps she was beginning to believe "Serge."

In the dim lighting from the moons, Leena groped to her little cabinet and grabbed her pouch and cloth bundle in which she packed clothing, and a few Element beads for protection. After she was satisfied she had enough to travel, she slid back snuggly into her bed.

She made a promise to herself to see Serge through whatever he did.

Leena woke at first light. She washed up, changed, dabbed fragrance and left her room in a hurry.

"Good morning, Mom, Grandma!" she greeted her elders with a fresh voice, as she skipped the steps down to the hall and strode towards the door.

"Oh, good morning, Leena!"

"Mom," Leena said as she turned to her mother. "I will be out for a few days."

"Where will you be off to, dear?"

"I will be north in Termina with a friend," Leena said with an enthusiasm she couldn't quite hold.

"A friend? Is that the boy who came yesterday?"

"Er... He seems a little lost, so I thought I'd see him there and show him around the place."

"Well, it's about time you looked for a boyfriend."

"Mom! I am only seventeen! Besides, he's just a... a friend!"

"You were very excited yesterday when this boy came. Now, when was the last you spent so much time with a guy you didn't know? Are you sure you are telling me he's just a friend?"

"_Yes_, I am sure, Mom!" Leena stressed anxiously and turned to the door. "I'm off!"

"Take care of yourself, you hear!" her mother shouted through the door.

"Yes!"

When Leena crept into his room at the tavern inn, the sky outside the window remained a dark, consistent blue behind a silhouette of Arnian roofs. Leena lit the lamps to find Serge still asleep on his bed, dressed in a set of white pajamas the tavern inn had kindly provided. She walked over and nudged Serge on his arm. He opened his eyes for a short glimpse before turning to the right to catch a few more winks. Displeased with his rudeness, she nudged him again, harder this time. Serge turned face up and struggled to open his eyes.

"Rise and shine!" Leena greeted energetically with a lively grin. "A new day awaits!"

Groaning wearily, Serge turned away from Leena and curled back to slumber. Leena slapped him on his arm.

"Serge! I've been thinking," Leena rattled. "I am not sure what's happening. But I can't just leave you alone like this. You're planning to go to Termina, right? Let me come along with you. Come, let's get going!"

Then, she pulled Serge up by his hand with all her might.

"Come on, you lazy Beachbum!" Leena struggled. "Wake up!"

He sat upright. His eyes that were still half-awake stared into nothing. Leena stuck her tongue out playfully, pretending to catch her breath.

"You look really awful with your hair standing!" she said with a giggle, as she messed with his soft, blue hair. "Go wash up and change! I'd be waiting for you at the tavern below!"

Cheerful lights fell on the tavern interiors and its walls of oak that wrapped the place in the warmth of yellow. A tinge of ale and lavender lingered in the hot morning air like a refreshing raindrop that fell on parched lips. The wooden floors had been swept clean, the sturdy, round tables cleared of its overnight mess. Outside the windows of the tavern, voices mumbled, sounds of footsteps rustled the grass as the villagers went about eagerly in semi-darkness their morning routines.

The early morning saw few customers, for most of the villagers would have had their meals at home. Travelers that make up the other portion of the customers never came that early. The chef who had just woken up assigned herself to the kitchen, clearing and cleaning up, always ready for the next orders. The waitress who had worked through the night was faithfully rearranging the plants, dusting the posters and prepping the tavern for another new day of service, before she ended her shift and another took over.

Leena took a seat eagerly at a table, while the waitress wiped another.

"He was still sleeping?" the waitress asked from where she stood.

"Yes," Leena said, as she nodded and smiled. "You should have seen how he looked!"

The waitress stopped and raised her eyebrows. "Judging from the way you asked -- cute?" She continued to wipe the tabletop. "Well, what will the both of you like for breakfast?"

"I'll decide when he comes down," Leena said and burst into a chuckle.

"My, my, someone's on cloud nine today, is she not? I don't recall seeing you smile that brilliantly, Leena. Is he your boyfriend?"

"You sound just like my mom!" Leena exclaimed. "With that apron on, you could probably pass off for someone's mother. But I tell you, he's not my boyfriend."

"Are you sure he's just a friend?"

"There you go again, just like my mom!"

The waitress walked hastily over to Leena's table and sat beside her. "Hey hey! Listen," she whispered quietly to Leena. "If he's not your sweetheart, then could you kindly introduce him to me? I find him quite a charming lad -- soft-spoken, cute, and those blue, sensitive eyes!"

"Stop that!" Leena said defensively.

"See? Point proven: you are jealous!"

"No, I am not!" Leena defended firmly.

"You are, you are, you are!"

"Hey!" the chef called out to the waitress. "I don't pay you to chat with customers! Finish your shift, then talk all you want."

"Sorry!" the waitress said, hand to her head in an apologetic salute. When she turned back to Leena, they both raised their eyebrows and stuck out their tongues for a while, before they broke into giggles. After the moment was over, the waitress stood up and returned obediently to her own tasks.

When Serge finally came down from his room, the waitress looked up to Serge and greeted him with a warm smile, "Good morning!"

"Good morning, Serge!" Leena also greeted Serge with a gleeful smile and an animated wave.

Serge walked down the steps and joined Leena at the table. Dressed in his black shirt, netted vest and blue Bermudas, Serge looked boyishly charming as the waitress had so aptly described. Those dreamy eyes of blue were indeed sensitive and enchanting. They drew Leena's eyes to them and held them on, as if they drew her into a trance, into a plane above this world, a plane of euphoria. She imagined the tables, the yellow lamps and the wooden walls of the tavern disappear, leaving behind soothing wind of the heavens blue through which she effortlessly drifted. She imagined straight rays of light streaming at an angle through the skies, glimmering and pulsating as they would through the wavy surface of moving water.

"Good morning," Serge greeted.

Leena broke out of the trance and plucked her eyes of his.

"Anything for the two of you, Sir, Madam?" asked the waitress cheekily.

"So, what will you like to have, Serge?" asked Leena.

"A breakfast set will do."

"Two breakfast sets, please!" Leena ordered with a two-finger gesture.

The waitress returned to her chores and the chef began crashing away at her cooking utensils.

"Are you going somewhere?" Serge noticed the cloth bundle slung around Leena's shoulders.

Leena stared back at him with her jaws dropped, shocked and mildly angry. "Didn't you hear what I say?" she asked.

Serge looked totally lost. "What was that you said?"

"I can't believe you!" Leena exclaimed and she nudged his arm with a fist. "I said I am going to Termina with you."

"Why?"

"Why? Because I can't leave you alone like this!"

"Oh, okay," said Serge indifferently.

Leena exhaled and shook her head, disappointed at the lack of gratitude.

"It's going to be quite a walk to Termina," Serge said. "Are you fine with that?"

"Do I look like a weakling to you?" Leena said as she tried to look disgruntled at his belittling comment, though it was a concern welcomed.

"I-I don't mean that," Serge, who was startled by her reaction, quickly clarified.

Indeed, Serge was charming, but only in looks. He didn't have the gift of the gab, and seemed used to speaking without thinking. Surely this different Serge could not replace the one who died ten years ago after he drowned at sea, for this new one's poor social skills reminded too much of her own lack of it. And surely the feelings she had for the old Serge would not fade in the darkness for many years to come.

The waitress brought their morning's meal over, placed them on the table and winked at Leena, who reached her hand out to slap her on the arm. The waitress smiled cheekily, walked away and returned to her own chores.

"I forgive you for this!" Leena said to Serge joyfully. "Come, let's eat! We've got a big day ahead of us!"

"Er... Leena?" Serge said softly.

"Yes, Beachbum?"

"Thank you."

Leena bit her lips to hold back her smile.

The eastern rising sun glowed brilliantly red through a flawless dome of pale blue, unclouded, unshielded. The birds sang cheerfully their morning carols as they took to the skies for their early flights, traveling from one land to another over the vast sea of emerald blue. The lands remained warm and dry after a night's rest and were about to come under the sun's fire for another long day. Yet, the coolest moment among the hours of all twenty four was now, just before the sun crawled into mid-morning and the temperatures soared mercilessly.

Leena walked out of the tavern, spread her arms and allowed the best of morning warmth to caress her flesh and body. She closed her eyes and let her self fall into nature's loving embrace, as if she fell into that of her dearest. The scent of village lavender and her favorite jasmine tantalized her senses, just as the harmony of the washing waves lifted her spirits. She raised her fist before herself and softly exclaimed, "Yes!" For the first time in many years, she was exhilarated. And with this mysterious newfound friend who would be walking beside her, the day had much to look forward to.

The male villagers had started their day at the farms; the female villagers busy with their chores and their stalls at the village center. The children were up, and were playing and filling the air their joyous, innocent laughter, cherishing every minute of their carefree days while they lasted.

"Before we leave for Termina, I would like to pray at the Statue of Fate first," Serge said to Leena.

"Okay! Let's go!" Leena found herself agreeing, even when she had never been faithful with the prayers. She regarded such divine beings as mere religious fanaticism that one could do without. Many believed that the first of man who inhabited El Nido was created by this Goddess of Fate, though Leena believed that it was man who created the Goddess of Fate out of their own figment of wishful imagination. She kept such opinions to herself, for the elders would not take lightly such blasphemous remarks about the sacred Goddess they so believed in.

Leena and Serge walked past the village, cut across the open field, entered the chief's hut and approached the Statue of Fate. A queue of villagers stood in line before the Statue, talking noisily whilst waiting their turn for their morning prayers.

"Leena?" said Serge.

"Go ahead."

"Who's the chief of Arni? Now that everything's different," Serge said wistfully.

"It's Gonji," she replied, paying careful attention not to say more than she should in the chief's hut.

"Gonji? But... Have you ever heard of Chief Radius? He became chief of Arni some four years ago. He teaches Element magic to everyone he sees."

Leena shook her head and bit her lips to remind herself to keep certain opinions of this chief within her mind. Chief Gonji had been tagged more than enough negativity -- a miser, a coward, a greedy pig, money-faced, selfish, aloof, insensitive -- that if he were put on a boat, he would sink with all of it. That same would happen even if he had all his fats removed from his rotund belly. And if she were caught saying anything bad about, the chief would make sure she would sink with him.

"Serge, do you pray everyday?" she asked, switching the topic.

"Yes, I do."

"What or who do you pray for?" she asked as she observed his reaction.

"I pray for my dad," he said without hesitation. "I pray for his safety and return."

"Safety and return? Wait a minute. Surely, you are not talking about... fourteen years ago, are you? The day you, or Serge, was bitten by the panther demon?"

Serge turned to look at Leena, gaping.

"Y-You don't mean to say, you remember my past?"

"I don't really remember _your _past. I heard most of your past from fellow villagers. No, I mean, it's Serge's past, not yours. No! That's not what I meant!" she corrected, only to find each correction a worse contradiction than the other.

"Leena, just tell me what you know," Serge said eagerly.

"That Serge I knew was bitten and seriously injured. That was fourteen years ago. My father and his set out to sea, taking him along with them to seek cure. I heard my father never returned from that trip. Serge's father returned with him, but he became a little hysterical. One day, he sailed out and never came back."

Leena blinked to rid her eyes of the mist.

Fourteen years ago, after Serge was wounded and poisoned by the panther demon, her father, Miguel, had set out to sea together with Serge's father, Wazuki. Wazuki returned with Serge who had recovered from the poisoning, but Miguel never returned from the trip. Nobody dared question Wazuki of Miguel's whereabouts, just as nobody dared question how Serge was miraculously healed from the fatal poisoning, for Wazuki had seemed not to be himself, as if he were possessed.

That much she knew, and what she knew came from the tales of her fellow villagers. This incident happened when she was three years of age. She was too young to recall how her father looked like, or how her father had doted on her, if he ever did. And she was then too young to understand what her mother had meant when she said that her father had "departed to a far away place."

Her own mother had never been generous about the details of her father. Leena had asked her time and again about what kind of father he was while he lived. Not only her mother refused to rake up the past, she sulked upon any mention her father. As for her fellow villagers, they knew Miguel as a person who had passionate interest for the historical culture of El Nido, but she could sense they evaded such questions as "was he a nice man?" and "did he love me?"

"I'm sorry," Serge apologized.

Leena shook her head. "You don't have to," she said with a gentle smile. "It's no fault of yours. So, you don't mean to say the same happened to you fourteen years ago to you, do you?"

"I don't remember the biting. I heard that from my villagers, too. But after my father left and never returned, I remember standing at the pier with mom everyday after, waiting and waiting. But he never returned. Do you also remember how your mother was bitter about losing your father? She said it was I who caused the death of your father and disallowed you to talk to me or my mother. Her bitterness lasted almost a year. And do you remember--"

"Stop it! This is giving me the creeps," Leena said, hand to her heart. A chill tingled in her spine. "Yes, the villagers have said this Serge and his mom used to wait at the pier for his father's return. And yes, I remember vaguely mom's bitterness after that incident."

"B-But you cannot remember that I didn't drown, ten years ago."

"But I know you drowned! I mean, Serge drowned! No, this other Serge drowned, not you!" she corrected herself again.

Serge's brows furrowed. For a moment, Leena thought her tactlessness had finally earned his distrust and dislike. She realized otherwise. His brows contracted so hard that wrinkled lines of thought appeared between them, as if they wrote themselves on his smooth, flawless forehead. Those dreamy eyes had become serious, focused and resolute. Their hard gaze fell upon and through the wooden floor like chisel that bore through wood and searched its depth for the finest grains of answers. His forehead glittered with droplets of perspiration and his mind seemed hard at work, powering the probing chisel into the heart of the mystery, a mystery gave Leena the cold shudders even amidst the morning warmth.

Leena found Serge's predicament confusing. She had not come to terms with this Serge being the Serge she knew before he died ten years ago. She was certain this boy had mistaken his own identity for someone else's. But there were the testimonies from this boy that suggested that what he claimed about being the real Serge might be true. Such truths and fallacies weighed on her mind like they hung on the balance, both equally heavily burdens that refused to tip the scales to either side. She spun the threads of thoughts like silkworms spun threads into a cocoon that was to her a gathered lump of mess which constricted her logical reasoning. When it was their turn to pray, she finally gave up thinking.

Serge touched the welcoming hand of the Goddess of Fate, closed his eyes and prayed earnestly. Leena looked at him from behind, wondering how he looked like when the windows to his soul were closed to the world. When Serge finished, he moved aside as Leena took her position before the sacred statue.

"What or who do you pray for?" Serge asked.

"It's a secret!" Leena exclaimed, but shamefully. She closed her eyes and chanted garbage to herself. When she finished, she looked at Serge, smiled and said, "Let's go. North to Termina!"

El Nido was said to be an active volcanic area once. Scattered all over its lands were spewing hot springs and its sea, volcanoes large and small, concentrated in the divide between the north and the south of the central continent. The Fossil Valley that was a legacy of such volcanic activity sat between Termina in the far north of the central continent and Arni in the south. It was said that several thousand years ago, molten lava seeped through the earth's crust, filled the surface with granite rock as it cooled and shaped the valley till what it looked today. Flanked by two tall walls of granite plateaus, a single trail led the way from one end of the valley to the other. The looming jagged walls of gray blocked out the morning sun, while the granite of ambient gray left the path between dull and dim. Steam rose steadily from small geysers in the ground, shrouding the valley in a screen of thin, warm mist.

As Leena and Serge proceeded through the dim valley, Leena fanned herself with her hands, trying to cool that unbearable heat eddying within such constricted environs. Serge remained wordless throughout the walk and his eyes constantly gazed far into the distance. He walked like a zombie whose legs walked without him realizing, whose eyes looked without him seeing. His silence was boredom that seemed to add to the heat, that which she found no means of fanning away.

She found pleasure in kicking into soft ground and kicking up loose gravel into the air. She found more in picking up a handful of dust, letting them loose and watching them fall like the sands in the hourglass did. She hopped and swayed and danced about like a shaman, hoping to drive away the awkwardness of her company's silence that was worse than the loneliness of no company at all.

"Serge?" Leena finally called out to him.

"Yes?"

"Are you always that quiet?"

He did not reply. Leena looked at him as they walked, wondering if he heard the question.

"Why don't you tell me more about yourself? Like where you came from"-- Leena halted, turned away from Serge and stuck her tongue out in guilt --"I mean what is the Arni you know like?"

"Didn't you say it was creepy?" Serge asked concernedly.

"With you not talking, it is even creepier," Leena assured.

"Okay. The Arni I know is a fishing village," he reported.

Now that Serge talked, Leena tried hard not to disagree. Arni _was _a fishing village.

"The catch is good," Serge explained, "The fishermen return everyday with huge catches. Before the change, Arnians hung fish at their doors as a symbol of good luck. It's like a wish for the season to be always good."

The catch used to be good during her mother's time, Leena heard. She vaguely recalled that the village fisherman used to hang their catch for the day up at the hammock, and that they used to hang fish outside their huts for such symbols of good luck. She recalled the fishy smell that she so detested when she still walked as a toddler. But she vividly recalled how it reeked, and how the odor had once churned her innards like the heavy smell of fermented cheese did that as a result, she threw up a morning's worth of delicious breakfast.

Friends leave, flowers wither and all good things never last. Some time ago, the weather turned hot, the waters salty. Beautiful clouds that used to mushroom below the azure blue became things of the past. Rains and thunderstorms became a rarity as the scorching heat and parched lands became their way of life. The unexpected climatic change had destroyed the smallest form of sea life and forced fishes off the seas of El Nido towards greener pastures. The catch had suffered terribly; it had turned from bad to worse and then from worse to hopeless, until there came a month when Arni lived without fish for their meals.

The suns and the heavens betrayed the seas and the seas in turn failed Arni. The lands deteriorated as it struggled to keep vegetation alive. The village turned to slaying Komodo lizards, dragon-like creatures about the height of a child during their early stages. But these dragon-like lizards could not reproduce as quickly as it could supply the entire village. Eventually the lizards were spent, and the village was forced to depend on their drying fields and aid from Termina for their livelihood.

The dried fish had been taken down from the huts. No one saw the use of such said symbols of good luck that did not work in practical. The tradition of age-old was sadly discarded.

That must have been a good five to ten years ago.

"I don't understand," said Serge. "How could all these have changed? These are traditions of Arni. And I don't understand how my mother ended up--"

"Dead?" Leena added helpfully.

Serge fell silent. Leena shut her eyes and cursed herself for being careless. Those were words that did not pass the mind, words that were doomed to be misunderstood and hurtful. While there had been times when she thought before she spoke, there had also been times when she spoke first. It felt as if she swung between these two personalities with a rhythm, one which did not follow the days and night, the waning and waxing moons, and the movement of constellations. At this moment, she found herself on the wrong side of that rhythm she never once had comprehended.

"H-Hey!" whispered Serge with a pat on Leena's shoulder. "Those were the two of three who were after me yesterday."

Leena opened her eyes and followed Serge's finger that pointed at two figures more than a hundred feet away from them. They stood in the way and spoke among each other.

"Acacia Dragoons?" wondered Leena. "They were after you? What did you do?"

"A-A-Acacia Dragoons?" Serge was confused and startled. "Didn't the Dragoons go missing three years ago? I recall that they left on some expedition and never returned since. Porre took over Viper Manor, didn't they?"

"No," Leena clarified, picking her words carefully. "They didn't go missing. Porre never set foot on our soil, Serge. If they did, the Dragoons will most certainly thrash them."

"The Acacia Dragoons," Serge mused. "Yes, I recall their uniforms now. But this cannot be!" -- he turned to Leena -- "Even if it were a plot. How could the mastermind bring these dead Dragoons back to rule El Nido. That cannot be!"

Serge troubled eyes were soon lost in thought, as they did last evening at the tavern. Leena wondered what he was thinking and began to wonder if Serge's words had any truth to them. She found no reason as to why the military could have left their headquarters unattended and opened an opportunity for someone else to walk into. She wasn't well-versed in the art of war, but she knew that the Acacia Dragoons were not rash and unintelligent leaders to have acted as such. Furthermore, according to Serge, it seemed like he was now a wanted felon of the Acacia Dragoons.

"Shake it! We can't just shake it on back to the manor like this. We failed in our mission!" the fat Dragoon whined pathetically.

"That was awfully awful back there," the skinny Dragoon added equally miserably. "I want a rematch!"

"By the way," the fat said. "Do you remember what kind of outfit he was in?"

"Hmm," the skinny pondered as he turned and noticed Serge. "Just something justly like that!"

"Oh, you remember," the fat turned to Serge. "So he looked like that, huh?"

"Actually," the skinny readied his spear. "It _is_ him."

"So you're sure about this?"

"Wonderfully wonderful timing!"

"Let's shake it! We're really going shake it to you this time!"

The fat and skinny inched over.

Leena found herself balancing on the scales, unable to decide whether she should believe in Serge when the facts seemed to point otherwise. She was troubled by the dilemma she was caught in. Defending Serge equated to harboring a criminal, a crime punishable by a long, awful prison term. Snitching equated to the betrayal of a friend's trust.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and made a decision on impulse.

"Let's fight them off, Serge," said Leena.

"Are you serious about that, Leena? You had better think twice. If these _are_ the Dragoons, defying their authority, not to mention fighting them, will implicate you!"

"I'll show you how serious I am!" she said.

Leena stormed down to the fat who was startled by her sudden offensive. She screamed with her might and threw a fist square into the fat's face. The impact exploded, not with the sound of a broken noise, but that of an agonizing cry from the fat. He retreated with a few wavering steps, eventually lost balance and fell miserably on his oversized bottoms. He wept relentlessly, nursing a broken nose with his chubby hands.

Leena was both surprised and guilt-stricken by the damage the blow had done that she went over with the intention of helping the fat up. The fat shook off her help and hands away.

"Retreat!" cried the fat. He got up on his fours and crawled away in shame. The skinny gulped and scurried to safety.

Leena giggled in disbelief. If all Dragoons behaved like these two, then the general of the Dragoons must be the head of a circus, or the janitor of the zoo. They would make for a good pair of comedians for they had been born with a look that would certainly bring laughter to an audience. But as soldiers of the army of El Nido, they were a disgrace, a humiliation of to their regime and themselves. Yet, she looked upon them with sympathy, and wondered how they must have been outcast by their fellow comrades who must be more normal.

"Those were the Dragoons who were after you?" she asked, and wondered if the attempt to capture Serge were serious.

Serge scratched the back of his head and nodded. "Do you think they will report this matter? I am concerned--"

"Certainly not!" Leena assured. "Remember how they were shameful about returning back to headquarters?"

"I hope you are right..."

"I will be!" Leena smiled. "Come! We'll be there, soon! There's a lot going on around there now. You don't want to miss it!"


	7. Book 1 Chapter 6 Three Is Company

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**6   Three Is Company**

Termina, considered the most advanced civilization on the soils of El Nido, stood proudly on the coastline at the northeastern part of the central continent. Being the closest piece of land on the central continent to northeastern seasonal rapids, it was a strategic harbor for El Nido's shipping and trading lines, and a gateway to the greater continents beyond. Its housing of white stone sprawled from one edge of the outskirts to another for five miles wide. Its creative architectures marked the pinnacle of a young, vibrant society, and its color of purity polished with the glory of its leaders.

The Acacia Dragoons -- governor of El Nido.

Exactly one hundred years ago, it was a modest, nameless village, home to a community of native demi-humans. At that time, a group of settlers from the continents beyond had discovered El Nido. They had sailed in from the mainland of Zenan and colonized the central continent. The native demi-humans had resisted furiously in a conflict that quickly wore out, for they lacked the sophisticated weaponry and the desire to slaughter. The native settlers were eventually driven off the land that had little room for their existence and settled at the northeastern isle Guldove, and the southwestern isle Marbule.

That which was bane to one race was boon to another. The royal Viper clan had established the Acacia Dragoons as its military force that swore upon the responsibility of El Nido's well-being and prosperity. The Viper rulers and its Dragoons had led fairly and had led well. They had envisaged bringing the world to El Nido and through this vision the port town of Termina was born. They foresaw the needs of their children and set up schools to educate the young. They had institutionalized law and order and mete out swift punishments to him who committed crimes of gravity. They had seen the needs of the fellow beings in Arni and offered unconditional aid in times of nature's wrath. Over the century, man on the central continent lived peacefully while the modest, nameless village developed into the thriving port town today. 

Exactly one hundred years later, in just two weeks from today, the Terminians would be joyfully celebrating their hundredth anniversary. Except Serge, who stood rooted at Termina's entrance, stunned by what his eyes saw.

"But this can't be," mumbled Serge, his eyes staring blankly into Termina. "This can't be true. The past" -- he paused -- "_My _past, _my _mom, _my _village and my whole life... they don't exist anymore."

"Serge..." said Leena, who found no words of consolation for her friend.

Serge closed his eyes, took a deep breath then exhaled laboriously. "You know, Leena? I keeping thinking that the water that crawled up to me and the world that transformed is but a plot. B-But it's not. A plot doesn't make sense. I'm only a village boy. Why would the Dragoons disappear for three years and then reappear again just to tease a village boy? Everything's gone. Everyone's gone. It's the truth. But... It's one that is difficult for me to swallow."

Serge drew a deep breath.

"On the other hand, I am sure you find my version of the truth equally tough to chew on," Serge concluded.

Serge turned to Leena and studied her reaction.

"I don't know, Serge," said Leena slowly, picking her words carefully. This moment, she knew was on the right side of her swinging rhythm. "Honestly, part of me believes in you. The other part of me _wants _to believe you. Look at all these, Serge. Termina is in a festive mood, in celebration of the Dragoons. The Dragoons are here; they have never left."

Indeed, Termina was in the mood for festivities. In preparation for the coming anniversary, the entire town had been decorated with garlands and potted plants that brought to life the white walls of stone unique to Termina. Stalls of games, fortunetelling, acrobatic performances and scrumptious food littered the town; displays of exotic mermaids to those of the talented paintbrush artists stood out from the alleys. People squeezed, wriggled past the crowds of more people like ants that amassed, climbed over each other in its colony of fellow ants. The dissonance of bagpipes, flutes, tambourines, drums and other instruments was a statement, an orchestrated harmony that spoke and set the tone of the merriment in the forthcoming days. 

"Welcome to Termina's 100th Anniversary," said the banner that hung Termina's entrance, and also said Serge softly.

"And the last anniversary Termina celebrated was its ninety seventh," lamented Serge resignedly.

Those distant eyes of Serge that sought home could not be lying, yet only half of Serge's spoken words agreed with visual truth. Leena found the scale swinging back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. Belief and disbelief struggled to tip each other over with more weights of reasoning, and more of evidence. But each weight that stacked above another threatened to destabilize the scale, just as each thought that added upon another threatened to rob her sanity. She decided to stop thinking, and decided to fulfill her promise that she made to herself last evening, a promise that was to see Serge through his task. 

"Serge," said Leena with hand on Serge's shoulder, "since we are here, we might as well enjoy ourselves. People say that the truth of a matter is defined by the number of people who believe in it. But I say the real truth exists in our own hearts. And these truths cannot exist if our lives don't. So let's go in and get ourselves a life, while we scout around for information."

Serge turned to her with a smile on his face. "The truth is: you haven't changed much."

Leena found her head spinning not from the scorching heat but from seeing that Serge had finally smiled. He had been frowning so much that there shone little brilliance in his eyes of blue. His sagging shoulders, consistent contemplation and lamenting of the worst of scenarios had claimed his youth and roughened his features. When his lips smiled, she found her heart gripped with a joy that clogged her nose and stiffened her throat. When his eyes smiled, she found her own misted with tears that was but a small price to pay for a wonderful moment such as now. This instance, she desired to raise her fists and scream her achievement to the whole town of Termina, but she thought better of it.

"Hee-hee. So what do you say?" Leena returned the smile and a pat on his shoulder.

Serge pondered for a moment. "You are right," he agreed with a nod. "Let's enter and see what we can find."

The midday sun raged furiously onto Termina. A rare, modest wisp of cloud hung motionless beneath the naked blue sky, far to the west, far from the sun's fiery rays. The streets burned under the sun's heat and its temperature was made to rise by the crowd that had packed tightly into the streets.

Stall holders waved, stood on chairs, tables and screeched with voices feverish with enthusiasm. Customers fanned themselves furiously whilst watching their favorite stunts and exotic exhibits and dimwitted Beachbums. Children holding sticks of candy struggled through the crowd while they got themselves squeezed against many others' bottoms. And on where the tall crowds did not gather, the young did, engrossed in their chatter and prattle and games of hopscotch, undaunted by the blistering heat.

A flower stall and its stock of lilies, tulips, roses and an assortment of others caught Leena's eye. The blend of fragrance was so much more irresistible than her own tinge of jasmine that she darted to the colorful flora like a bee that flew to flowers' nectar. 

Serge accompanied quite reluctantly, Leena noticed.

At the stall, a young, suave knight stood beside Leena. He donned shining armor of red over a leather tunic of dark brown. His weapon was a sword on a belt buckled round his waist and his defense, a shield on his left arm. He had neatly trimmed hair of silver white that did not make him look old but orderly and honest. His eyes were of emerald green, alert, serious but unapproachable. He wore a solemn, expressionless face much like that of Serge, except the knight exuded an additional aura of righteousness and chivalry that was emphasized by his Dragoon uniform. 

"Ma'am, I would like to purchase a bouquet of bellflowers," said the young knight, who stood staunchly before the flower stall lady as if she were his commander.

"Sorry, I'm totally out of bellflowers," the lady replied warmly but regretfully. "I'll get some in a few days, so come back again then. By the way, I haven't seen Karsh around here lately. What is he doing?"

Leena turned to Serge, who was already looking at her as if looking for an answer. She saw his mind through his eyes, and saw him questioning the possibility of "Karsh" being the same Dragoon who sought to apprehend him last evening. In silent agreement, they both turned back to continue their browse and selection while they listened intently to the conversation that was about to follow.

"Well, he said he was going ghost-hunting down south," the knight replied truthfully. "I'm just a private, so I do not know for certain, but I heard a rumor that General Viper ordered him to go."

"A ghost?" the lady exclaimed. "Now that is something. I just hope it's not a sign of a coming disaster." 

Leena stole a glimpse at Serge to observe his reaction at the spoken confirmation. She saw in his controlled grimace a hint of how the word "ghost" carried a certain nuance that troubled his mind just as it ached in her heart and numbed her arms. She imagined the confusion that ran through his mind, that which she could not understand. She was at a loss of what ought to done -- to offer a word of console, to strongly support his search for answers, or to drag him away from the questions and flee to where no one troubled him. 

"If you ever see him, give him my regards," the lady said.

"I will do that," replied the knight. "And I will be back, too." The knight then took his leave.

"God, you're slow!" said a boisterous voice of an exasperated lady. "You made me wait forever!"

Leena stole a peek over Serge's shoulders to see a young lady dressed in skimpy red, as if she were not dressed. A garment of white cotton hugged closely her well-endowed assets but left her well-toned waist in full view. A red skirt wrapped her pelvic but exposed her well-built legs from thighs to feet. This lady of bold dressing tried to look innocent and dainty by gently stroking and fiddling her blonde ponytail, but her motions were awkward and stiff as if she were a man.

"Making a lovely lady like--" the young lady feigned with a heavy accent.

Just as Leena wondered who this lady was, the lady focused her eyes on Leena and studied her from head to toe. She shed the girlish act and folded her arms across her chest.

"So that's it," the young lady said. "I get it! This Sheila over here is your sweetie, eh? I'm right, ain't I?"

"No!" Leena and Serge replied in unison.

"No need to be shy!" Kid teased at the top of her voice. "I'm not so bold as to break up a lover's tender moments. I'm understanding." 

Serge shook his head and heaved a sigh of exasperation.

"I'll wait till your little date is over," the young lady said, as she gave a hard slap at Serge's shoulder, at which he grimaced. "Well then, have a bloody good time!"

Kid winked at Leena and gave the thumbs-up before walking away, all smiles on her face. 

"Who's she?" asked Leena.

"It's Kid," Serge replied truthfully.

"And do you know her?"

"We met when I faced Karsh and his guards alone. She... sort of saved me."

Serge blushed. Leena stared in amazement and delight at his boyish features that was a healthy, rosy red. She struggled to restrain herself from rubbing and pinching those cheeks as she would to her oversized pet dog and her cuddly toys. She saw that those eyes of sorrow and resignation had given way to eyes of guilt and anxiousness that spoke of feelings of the heart.

"Sort of? You do mean she saved you, don't you?" Leena teased cheekily. "And, wow, she looks rather cute for your heroine, don't you think?"

"Cute?" Serge acted sickened. "_That?_ Is cute?"

"You should be at least grateful to _her_ for saving you."

"That's a different matter altogether."

"You'd better not let her hear that," Leena warned Serge with a wink. "I have a gut feeling she will dice you up if she did."

"Perhaps not. She will just gleefully kick me hard till I'll kiss the moons," Serge mumbled.

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

"So what do you intend to do now, Serge?"

"Let's just walk around."

"Okay!" she exclaimed.

Leena walked alongside Serge as she drowned herself in the festive colors of the town. Even her perfect dressing of striking red and blue seemed to match the mood of the carnival and the color of the canvas tents. Had there been enough space she would hop around the streets as if it were her dance floor. Yet, the jostling crowd of sweaty women and foul-odor men failed to dent her spirits, for the presence of people was to her the presence of life and vivacity. Every stall attracted her with their sweet smelling goodies and glittering souvenirs and would have earned itself another browsing customer if not for the important task she had at hand. 

They reached the town square where the streets merged on the highest elevated part of the town that overlooked the sea in the north. The square was an open space, for the lines of stalls had ended where the streets did. Pigeons flocked to and gathered around an aged man for their afternoon meals. Families enjoyed an afternoon picnic under the shade of umbrellas setup around the square. A bronze statue of a gallant figure graced the center of the square, its polished surface glittering in the scorching afternoon sun. A circular fountain of exquisite design adorned its sides and protected the statue like the moat that defended a royal castle.

Kid stood before the statue, her eyes fixed upon it, her left hand at her hip. Leena and Serge walked up to her sides and stared at the statue of brilliant copper bronze. 

"This is General Viper, Serge," said Kid without turning her head, as if she had been waiting for Leena and Serge. "He's the leader of the Acacia Dragoons. He's your target and mine, too."

"I heard that he was the one who ordered my arrest," said Serge.

"You never know, Serge," said Kid. "Look, I've done my homework. General Viper resides in Viper Manor, just east of this town. It's known to be an impregnable fortress that _supposedly_ incorporates its surrounding terrain to its advantage."

Kid sneered. "Rumor has it that the manor will be holding a garden party in two weeks time in celebration of the hundredth anniversary. That would be the best time for us to 'seek an audience' with Viper. But others say the Dragoons may be packing and going. Don't know about you, but I figured I can't take chances. So I intend to pay this bloke a visit tonight."

"Oh yes. I am sure that if you walk right up to the manor's gates, the guards will be happy to keep you entertained for the night," ridiculed Serge.

"That is why I'm not going to, mate," said Kid proudly. She wrapped her arms around Leena's and Serge's back and then whispered. "We will sneak into Viper Manor."

"What?" Serge startled. 

"Sneak in?" Leena gasped.

"Shhh!" Kid hushed in exasperation, pressing fingers to Serge's and Leena's lips. "I've got some business there as well. So let's sneak in together. How about it? You are going to find out what the Dragoons are up to, right? And why was that Karsh bloke trying to capture you?"

"But--" said Leena.

"But how are we going to get in?" interrupted Serge.

"We'll have to find a way to the manor first," Kid said confidently. "I've heard that Viper Manor is a bloody huge place, so once we're there, breaking in will be easy."

"How well do you know the interiors?" Serge asked.

"I will know it well when we get there."

"That is comforting," Serge mocked.

"Either you trust me, Serge, or you don't," Kid laid the cards.

"What do you say, Serge?" Leena asked nervously. Breaking the nose of a comedian soldier was a joke that could be shrugged off easily. But breaking into the fortified headquarters of the military was of such crime of magnitude that it would land them in prison, if they were caught. The thought of dying on the rope was not nearly as terrifying as the living her life behind bars. The thought of daily meals of cold porridge served in dirty tin bowls left her shuddering and swallowing hard.

Serge pondered for a moment. "I'll go," he decided firmly. "But this is my problem, so I'll go alone. Breaking in is a serious--"

"God, give me a break!" yelled Kid into his ears. "You? Alone?" She studied him head to toe then back.

"Kid's right, Serge. You can't go alone." Leena drew a deep breath and decided again with her instincts. "I'll go, too. With the three of us, we can help each other."

"Or get us all into trouble," Serge said with disdainful eyes fixed on Kid.

"Hey! I resent that," said Leena, hands on her hips. 

"I don't mean you, Leena," clarified Serge, his eyes still on Kid.

"But three minds work better than one. And I'm going with you, Serge, Kid."

"Oi! Oi!" Kid roared. "No worries. Leave the operations and planning to me, you hear? Follow my cue and you blokes will leave the place without a scratch, I promise."

Kid was assuring, composed, in control of the situation and was all that Leena hoped to be but wasn't. Kid seemed to know what she was doing as if she were experienced with break-ins of such outrageous scale. Where she came from or who she was Leena didn't know and, perhaps, didn't want to know. Kid's confidence of speech and of actions gave Leena encouragement and a certain peace in her mind. Yet, Leena found her heart, which had led her to follow Serge, beating in her mouth as if it were drumming in protest against her actions, for the mission to see Serge through his journey was about to end with the committing of grave felony. No, she insisted. It was no drums of protest, but drums of war cries, a demonstration of eagerness and resolve with which she would carry till the journey ended, her promise fulfilled.

"That's settled, then, mates!" Kid said with pats on both her mates' shoulders. "Come on. Let's find ourselves some chow. I'm bloody hungry!"

Heat baked the interiors of the Termina Bar just as it grilled the streets outside. Yet, the Termina Bar accounted for the footrest for tens of thousands of visitors at the turn of every moon, at the end of close of every ledger. Located fittingly along a street near the port, the tavern was a necessary stop to those who waited for the next ferry to the mainland continents beyond or the El Nido isles. It offered the finest collection of wines imported from the mainland of Zenan and a wide range of vintages to the paying customers. Among its well-known dishes was the Squid Gut Pasta, a delicacy of flour pasta and boiled squids, a delicacy whose draw lie in its mouth-watering sauce. It was a delight, an addiction to the man on the streets and the aristocrats alike. 

The bar, long and rectangular, was furnished with brown-tiled bricks and two expensive chandeliers. Burning torches built into the alcoves that were sealed behind brown metal grilles added an overall enigmatic feel to the bar. Tables were of elegant cream, long and round at the corners. No seats, however, filled the room around the tables and customers were made to stand for their meals and drinks. The first generations of operators and chefs had unanimously and stubbornly refused to install seats, eccentrically insisting that food tasted better this way. Customers never complained, for the good food lived up to its name around town.

The group of three shared an already crowded table with few other Terminians who were griping about their latest woes.

"I've been fired from my job," lamented one in a drunken stupor. "And I am really strapped for cash."

"That sounds bad," said a second. "What are your plans for the future?"

"I seek an alternative livelihood now. Have you heard of this thing called the Frozen Flame?"

"The Frozen Flame? Yes, I've heard of it," the second took a sip.

"The Frozen Flame is the treasure of all treasures," the first man proudly said. "It is said that even the notorious thieves Radical Dreamers are after it, but that thing is _mine_."

"You don't think that the Frozen Flame is some kind of jewel or something, do you? I've heard this Flame exists only in legends."

"Of course it exists! How otherwise could the legends have come about, I ask you? One day, I'll get my hands on it and become the richest man in the universe."

"Things aren't that easy, I'm sure. It's probably a beast of hellish design, a dragon of sorts, I say. Once you gaze at it, boom! You are well-done like a steak on a barbecue."

"You're just being sissy. I will find it, you see. That is my Terminian Dream!" 

"You are free to dream, my friend. But daily's work is always best. Nothing beats hard work and dedication."

"Bah! Such are the impressions ours rulers would want from you, such are the leashes of our citizens at which I scowl! What 'contribution' to our prosperous economy? What 'patriotism' to our beloved hometown? You can be contented with your hard work, my friend, while your rulers feed off your bloody taxes! In the meantime, I shall seek the Flame, and from rags I shall become riches! One more toast to my bright future!"

The Frozen Flame was a treasure that indeed existed only in legends. On the one hand, it was known as a priceless treasure among treasure hunters and adventurers who sought to earn a quick fortune. On the other, it was touted as a source of evil which should not be touched or awaken. The profit-minded seized on such hunger for its knowledge and its possession and horded such items in the black market, claiming them to be the one true Frozen Flame, when, in reality, no one had seen how it looked like. 

Those who had been making themselves heard of their designs on the Frozen Flame were this organization of thieves known affectionately as, "the Radical Dreamers." They were infamous in the mainland of Zenan, targeting upper-classes riches, especially those of crooked organizations and corrupt governments. Churches, temples and charitable organizations would often find themselves rich overnight with loot, of which they distributed to the needy. 

In such age of corruption and darkness on the mainland of Zenan, the Radical Dreamers were said to be a spot of brightness that gave the people hope and inspired them to live. They appeared to have garnered themselves a cult following and an underground army that extended its far reaching factions into the hearts of civilizations. 

And rumor had surfaced that the Radical Dreamers were on their way to El Nido.

"Big talkers," scoffed Kid loudly, but she failed to draw their attention.

"At the very least, they don't talk as loud as you," mumbled Serge.

"What was that?" roared Kid.

Serge pretended not to listen. Leena cupped her mouth and smiled.

"So, lunch?" asked Leena, controlling her laughter.

"Oh yes! Of course, mate!" Kid agreed.

"Squid Gut Pasta!" suggested Leena, who, at the mention of food, had momentarily forgotten the guilt of crime that pounded at her heart. "It's been a while since I tried it."

"Fine with me," Kid agreed. "It's been hell of a while since I tried anything good."

"How about you, Serge?" asked Leena.

"I have the same, too. I should have some cash," said Serge.

"Well, mate?" Kid said to Serge as she hit her hand hard onto Serge's shoulders with a tight slap.

Serge grimaced as Leena held back her laughter. 

"What are you waiting for?" Kid asked.

"What?" Serge said irritably.

"Come on!" Kid cried out and slapped Serge on his shoulder again. "You're not expecting us ladies to get the order, are you?"

"Oh!" Serge said obediently, and immediately left for the counter to place the orders.

"God!" Kid cried, raising her hand to her forehead, as if coping with a bad headache. "How do you say it here in El Nido? He has Beachbums in his head?"

"That's 'he grows a Beachbum as his head.'" Leena giggled. "You must come from mainland. Even your accent is different."

"You can tell, can't you?" replied Kid as she reached across the table, picked up a toothpick and began to chew at it. "You? Where's your home on El Nido?"

"Arni," Leena said with a smile.

"What's your name? That Beachbum mate of mine never introduced."

"That's Leena."

"Aw, that's a sweet name," Kid said with the toothpick stuck between her teeth.

"And you are Kid. I heard you saved Serge yesterday."

Kid grunted. "I guess your sugar boy tells you _everything_." She held her tummy and burst into laughter.

"For the umpteenth time, he's not my boy or my boyfriend," insisted Leena, exasperated. "I only knew him yesterday."

"Not your sugar boy?" Kid was surprised. "Then why in the bloody hell are you accompanying him around?"

"Hmm, do I sense jealousy?" Leena teased.

"I ain't jealous of nothing! Why should I be?"

"Oh really?" Leena tried to pry, but Kid's teenage expression told nothing of what she thought, as if she were an old woman who had been through too much, who was too fatigued by the upsets in life. Even those eyes of gentle pearl blue shed no light on her mind, for they looked too seasoned and too exhausted.

"I say I ain't, I mean I ain't. You haven't answered my question. Why are you following him?"

"He looks lost." Leena turned serious and honest. "To tell you the truth, it seems that I have known him for a long time now. I can't say why, but it's a strange feeling."

"Yes, I feel that, too."

"Oh, you, too? Then... Then, does it feel as if you worry for him, you are concerned about his well-being, and you'd like to know what he is thinking at times, as if he were a long-time friend of yours, an old acquaintance? To me, it seems that way; that I've a lot I want to say to him, to make him feel better, even though I can't really put it into words well." -- Leena giggled, embarrassed at her own poor communication skills.  -- "But... even if I talk, he's not the kind who responds a lot, you know? Hee-hee. But do you feel like I do?"

"Yes, that's pretty much it," Kid nodded. "I'm quite sure I've seen him before. Somewhere. I can't remember where for the hell of me, but you know, it's that feeling. It's not what they call déjà vu, well, maybe it is. But it's like this thing that boils up inside me chest when I see him."

"Then, you admit it is strange, huh? That stirring feeling in your heart. It's as if he is who he claims to be, the ghost -- I mean, the boy who lived as my neighbor ten years ago."

"Yes. It's does feel kind of strange."

"We are on the same boat, aren't we?" Leena said, smiling. 

She was delighted to share her thoughts with Kid and to know that Kid felt the same way as she did, even it were for a reason unknown. Her heart was suddenly relieved of a burden she had not noticed was weighing on, her mind suddenly set free from a cage she had not seen was locked within. She heaved a sigh and felt a breezeless wave of cool sweep through her skin and refresh her face. She felt as if she found a confidante to whom she could openly speak, for whom she began to hold admiration. She felt as if she had found an elder sister.

"You won't want to be in mine, Leena," Kid said wistfully.

Serge just returned from the counter, orders placed. "Lunch will be ready in a while," he reported.

"Got it," said Kid, as she chewed her toothpick and examined everything she could find on the tabletop.

"What were you both talking about?" Serge asked.

"Oi! It's girls' talk and none of your business!" Kid shouted.

"Fine, I don't want to know," Serge said in frustration. 

Serge turned from Kid to Leena and shook his head in disgust. Irked by the two bitter friends who seemed constantly at loggerheads, Leena shook her own in surrender.

The Holy Sword Einlanzer stood alone in a wide open space, wedged into the barren sands near the outskirts of Termina. The sands received a streak of illumination from the sword's blade blade, a glaring focus of the sun's blaze that reflected off its polished surface. Its hilt of white had been designed, crafted by a skilled Dragonian of an age long past. As if of a design magical, it was a sword whose hilt fitted itself into the hands of the bearer should he be deemed worthy of wielding it, or whose hilt's edges dug into the bearer's flesh should he be deemed otherwise.

Indeed, the Einlanzer was wielded by the purest of hearts and the best of fighters in the Acacia Dragoons who were knighted as the Grandmasters. Since the inception of the Acacia Dragoons and the discovery of this ancient sword, the Einlanzer lived alongside fourteen masters, the last of which were Garai, the thirteenth Grandmaster, and Dario, the last. Today, the Einlanzer served as a memorial for these two valiant warriors who passed away on separate occasions in their line of duty.

A young lady stood faithfully before the sword, her hands held gracefully together in prayer, her head low in mourning. Her hair of violet, silky and shiny in the midday sun flowed smoothly over her shoulders as if it wrapped and caressed them lovingly. She donned an elegant gown of white, sewn on which were beautifully crafted, gold embroidery. The gown that had been specially tailored for formal occasions was of close and comfortable fit that accentuated her young, womanly curves. She crowned a crafted tiara of diamonds and gold that spoke of her ancestry as the member of the Viper family. Even without it, her graceful mannerisms were alone evidence of royal upbringing.

Glenn donned the knights' armor of red over a dark brown leather tunic. As he walked towards Lady Riddel, his sword clanked against his armor and his boots rang in the respectful silence of the open-air shrine. Lady Riddel looked up from her silent prayers and then looked at his empty hands.

"So, she was out of bellflowers," Lady Riddel said disappointedly. "That is unfortunate. Then let us pray without any bellflowers for today."

Glenn found his place beside Lady Riddel and lowered his head.

"Father. Brother," Glenn mourned, his face stone cold.

Glenn's father, Garai had been a well-respected figure in the higher-ranks of the Acacia Dragoons and well-adored even by his subordinates, even after his death. He was remembered for his contributions to the Dragoons' effort in the Guardia-Porre War some fifteen years ago. But twelve years ago, Garai passed away in the line of duty and the reason of his death remained a mystery till today.

Dario loved bellflowers while he was alive. He had loved them as much as Lady Riddel did, and as much as he loved her. Three years ago, Dario had proposed to Lady Riddel. After they had received the blessings of General Viper, Riddel's father, they were engaged in matrimony, an event that whole of Termina had taken to the streets in celebrations. Soon after, Dario left on an expedition with a fellow Deva, Karsh, to the Isle of the Damned, an expedition that was doomed to be his last. The celebrations on the streets had become a funeral, and gaiety had turned to mourning.

Glenn lost his brother, his only kin left in this world.

Each day that passed was a struggle against his own self, a struggle against the expectations of others who demanded a Grandmaster caliber of him but saw none of it. Each day that passed he wished his brother were still around to advice, to console and offer a listening ear to the sorrows that had none to speak to. Alas, it had been three years since his brother rested peacefully under the Holy Einlanzer, just as he lived under the shadows of his brother.

"It is such a mystery," said Lady Riddel. "This sword never rusts. It's seems as if the souls of its masters live within it. Do you not think so, Glenn?" 

"Yes. I have engraved in my memory the lives of my father and brother, who had wielded the sacred sword Einlanzer."

"Let us hope that is true."

"What do you mean by that?" Glenn turned to Lady Riddel, startled. "Lady Riddel, I cannot allow even you to--"

"Do you think there is something odd about the Dragoons of late?" Lady Riddel asked. "Daddy's face shows anguish, and even Karsh was saying he was sent on a 'ghost hunt.'"

"Lady Riddel--"

"Everyone has been acting oddly," Riddel said concernedly, "ever since that beastly guest arrived in the manor three years ago."

"You must speak to the general again."

"Glenn, have you not seen what I have been doing for the past three years?" asked Riddel as she turned to Glenn, her eyes grieving. "I have not even the time to mourn Dario's death," she said forlornly. "I have tried everything in my means to convince Daddy that this beast harbors ill intentions. But I know this beast has put Daddy under enchantment, for he listens to him but not to me. And Daddy now makes his own decisions without even consulting the Council of Devas."

A moment of silence fell. Only the noises of celebrations from the distant streets could be heard. 

"I know not of what this beast schemes," Lady Riddel continued, "but I fear the worst."

"The Dragoons set off for an expedition in two days," reminded Glenn.

"I am aware of the massive deployment to Fort Dragonia. But who will remain to defend Viper Manor if the Dragoons have all left? I know many Dragoons share the same fears as I do. They speak of them on their faces if not through their lips. But no one dare question Daddy's orders. 

"I understand... I understand that the Dragoons wish of me to speak up for them. Tonight. Tonight, I shall try again to dissuade Daddy from this course of action. And I shall keep trying until he gives in."

Lady Riddel lowered her head and closed her eyes. Glenn saw her shoulders sag, for he understood she had obligatorily carried the weight of the Dragoon's fates on them, even if she it was not her responsibility. He heard her breathe heavily, as if she chased relentlessly a goal that was too far to reach in time. If Dario were around, he would offer a gentle word of console, an enlightening word of advice, at either of which Lady Riddel's eyes would shine with dreams and hope. Dario would offer his broad shoulders on which she her head could rest on, and his chest in which she could seek shelter. All Glenn could do was to stand on his feet and watch her suffer silently.

"Glenn," said Riddel as she looked up, "promise me to always keep the unclouded truth in sight. Do not be swayed by the masses. The splendor of the Einlanzer must not be tarnished."

Glenn fell silent as his thoughts began to wander like frantic soldiers in his mind as if each ran from war and sought safe grounds on which their weary feet could rest. He constructed a path in his mind and forced the thoughts to flow in a straight, logical line, but he found them disobedient, refusing to accept his orders. He tried to control them like he controlled his section during mock exercises, but he failed as he did in real life.

The assignments had been released this morning. Unlike his fellow buddies who received theirs via the section leader, he received his in a parchment sealed with the Acacia royal seal. Without lifting a finger or saying a word, he had earned the jealousy and contempt of his section mates and section leader, who were now convinced he pulled strings through the Lady, if they were not before. While his section mates complained of having to march through forests, squeeze on board the military vessel with many sweaty others and spend long hours guarding the fort, Glenn's orders were to escort the beautiful Lady Riddel into Fort Dragonia on her private sailboat, along with her chambermaids.

Could he be seen as doing his rightful job and not be seen as winning Lady Riddel's heart or pulling strings because Dario was Lady Riddel's prince and Glenn was the Lady's brother-in-law? Could escorting Lady Riddel to Fort Dragonia be considered being swayed by the masses, or not? Glenn found no answer within his unrestrained army of thoughts.

"We shall speak of this again tomorrow, Glenn," said Lady Riddel. "I may have need your assistance, then."

"As you wish," said Glenn respectfully.

As they took their leave, a group of three youths in their teens walked towards them. A young boy with a large swallow in hand and two young ladies, one of whom dressed so boldly Glenn was loathe to look but had to keep his eyes straight, for that boy held a weapon that could prove dangerous to the Lady's life. Lady Riddel smiled at them and they returned the smile respectfully.

The wisp of cloud in the afternoon sky had dissipated and left behind a pale blue whose rightful brilliant azure had been stolen by that of the sun. A crane of chaste white drifted from the east in graceful, humble flight even if it were reigning queen of the skies. Crows flocked in from the western skies and descended in altitude as if they descended in reverence for the single white female. As one flew over the others, the shadows of the crows blotted out the sun intermittently, as if even the sun blinked its eye upon the crane's passing. Yet, the ground that refused to stop burning chewed through one's shoes and glared pain into one's eyes. As the air continued to boil in outrageous heat, the stone town wavered in its own mirage, as if its walls were about the crumble to the invisible, fevered enemy.

The long, unfruitful investigation under the raging heat ended at the outskirts of Termina. The threesome found themselves at an open area commonly known as the Termina Shrine, named in respect and remembrance for the valiant soldiers of the Acacia Dragoons who lost their lives in the line of duty. The shrine had no roofs for shelter and no altars for offerings, only a holy sword wedged at the center of the open field of barren sand. Although the town was in celebrations, the sacred shrine remained hauntingly silent and gave one a chilly tingle on the skin, as if those who had passed on still lingered around.

The fine-looking knight in red they saw at the flower stall earlier on walked towards them. Leena smiled at him but he remained cold and unfriendly. A refined lady of royal elegance smiled gently at them three and they smiled respectfully at her who wore the crown of the daughter of General Viper, even if her father had ordered Serge's capture. When they brushed past, Leena, Serge and Kid turned and watch them leave until they disappeared into the western trails beyond the town outskirts. Kid then walked to the sword, bent down and inspected its craft of fine design.

"Fine piece of work, ain't it?" she said as she fingered the sword's blade. "That Lady Riddel."

"But of course. She's the daughter of General Viper, the princess of El Nido. The likes of you now will never make one, not in this life," said Serge with sarcasm. "In your previous, perhaps." 

Kid furrowed. "And you will never make a king even if you had the nine lives of a cat!" she said as she examined the words cut into the sword's blade.

"So? What does it say?" asked Serge disinterestedly.

"Why don't you come over and read it for yourself?" retorted Kid.

"Enough! The two of you!" roared Leena as she fanned herself in the heat. "Ever since we left the tavern, the two of you have been bickering from ten streets down non-stop. Aren't the two of you tired? Grow up already!"

Serge and Kid gaped at Leena.

"Curse this weather that is hot enough! We don't need the two of you add to that!" Leena barked. She continued to fan herself furiously as she looked up into the fiery sky and ignored her two new friends momentarily. The heat licked her skin and the heated argument made her as irritable as she her younger brother's foul mouth did. The sky was spotless, flawless and a sheet of angel white when the weather was bearable. Now, the sky was like the burning flames of hell, as if hell had turned itself upside down and heaven was lost within the earth.

"Oi! Chill," said Kid as she stood her feet. 

"Under the hot sun?" Leena flashed a stiff grin that startled them both. "I think not!"

"What in Zeus's name is the matter with you?" asked Kid. "Running a temperature?"

"With the 'heat' between the both of you, yes," Leena replied.

"Are you all right, Leena?" asked Serge concernedly. "Will you need a rest?"

Leena heaved a sigh in surrender. "Let me ask the two of you. We're a team, are we not? A team works together, not fight each other. You breathe, I breathe. If you fall, how can I stand? So, why don't we end our differences here and start behaving like a team, for good riddance's sake!"

Kid drew a deep breath. Serge turned away from her in silence.

For a moment, Leena felt she was in control. She felt as if she were a leader who led her friends down an unfamiliar trail in the woods, a leader who was frightened but showed none of it on her face. She knew she was not to bring them down a trail that would fork and divide them, their spirits and their goals they had set out to accomplish as one. Instead, she would take them down a trail that narrowed and focused on their objective. And she would take them a path that brought their hearts together, for she saw between them sparks of emotion that electrified the air; not emotions of anger, but that of passion.

"Then again," said Leena softly after she composed herself. "The two of you look really cute when you argue. I think you are really made for each other."

"What?" yelled Serge and Kid.

"Hey!" shouted a voice from afar.

A river at the far edge of the shrine marked the boundary of the port town of Termina. The river forked into two; one streamed into Termina over which the town bridges of white arched defiantly; the other streamed off the central continent into the ocean in the north. It had become a dock to ferrymen who were always eager to taxi rare customers to their destination of choice for a good sum of money. The commotion between the threesome had caught the attention of one ferryman who now walked over them. He was skinny, tanned, dressed in light clothing and looked as exhausted as he looked hard up for business.

"Hey! You're a tourist, right?" the ferryman yelped. "The festival's a waste of time. I'm here from the northeastern isle of Guldove working as a ferryman. How would you like to visit other parts of El Nido instead? I can take you anywhere you like with this boat. I take money, but don't worry, it's not that much. My boating skills are quite famous around here, I guarantee a comfortable ride."

"No, thank you very much," Serge replied.

"Are you sure you don't want a ride? There's nothing in Termina worth looking at, nothing but stone walls, nothing but crowds of stinky man and women. How about visiting Guldove? It's a quiet scenic getaway of traditional cultures and--"

"No," Serge insisted politely, "we aren't exactly here--"

"Hold your sea horses!" Kid interrupted as she walked to the ferryman. "We want to get to Viper Manor. Can you take us there?"

The ferryman turned suspicious. "Viper Manor? What are you going to do up in that place? Steal treasure from the vaults or something?"

"Don't go snooping into your customers' privacy," Kid snapped angrily and pointed a finger at the ferryman. "Are you going take us there or not?"

"As long as you pay me," the ferryman said nonchalantly. "I'll take you wherever you want."

"What's the rate?"

"A hundred gold pieces."

Kid pondered for a moment, then raised her hand in gesture, five fingers spread wide. "Fifty. This evening in three hours."

"Fifty? I have to make a living!" the ferryman protested.

"Fifty."

The ferryman grouched. "Okay, eighty!"

"Sixty!" Kid insisted. "Last call. Take it or we'll call on your other ferryman friends."

The ferryman murmured unintelligibly under his breath. "Alright!" he finally agreed reluctantly. "I give it to you for sixty. What an unlucky day! I'll wait for you folks here in three hours' time."

The ferryman stomped away reluctantly.

For that moment, Leena felt the control slips from her hands like sands that slipped through one's fingers. The way Kid carried herself confidently and the way Kid spoke impressed upon her. In that negotiation, Leena saw how Kid pick out weaknesses she could not, and how Kid turn deals into bargains and bargains into gifts. She found that the instincts of a leader had departed from her spirit, and Kid took over that role once more. Leena sighed, resigned to the fact that there was no way she could be like the sister she so admired.

"So, with some luck, we've got ourselves a trip to the manor!" Kid announced proudly. "With more, we should be able to scale the cliff behind the manor."

"With more _luck_?" interrupted Serge.

"Do you have a freaking problem with that?" snapped Kid.

Serge stole a glimpse at Leena then shook his head submissively.

"But that'll have wait till the sun sets," Kid continued. "Until then we've got a little time on our hands to burn. I say we go to--"

"How about an inn?" suggested Serge. 

"An inn?" asked Kid. "What for?"

"Didn't you even listen? Leena just said she was running a temperature. I think she will need a good rest."

Kid raised brows in surprise. Leena chuckled at Serge's silliness.

The four walls of untainted white broadened the expanse of an already spacious lobby as if it reached many miles wide. The windows of silver framing and clear glass were but touches of decoration of simple, elegant design. Even furious rays of the sun became streams of appeased warmth that blended with the architecture that was as smart as it was exquisite. Simple, festive garlands hung from every pillar of the lobby, just as well-groomed plants adorned the four sides of each. Sand brown benches of minimal design lined against the walls and between the pillars for the resting tavern customer. A grandfather clock set against the lobby's corner began to chime to the start of the hour, just as the threesome entered into the spacious hall. 

"Welcome to Termina Inn!" the lady greeted politely when they entered the inn's reception area.

The three made their way towards a modest reception desk of pinewood, behind which the friendly lady owner of the inn sat. The table was tidy with only the register of guests placed neatly before her. She looked up and smiled at her customers warmly.

"A room for three!" Kid said boisterously.

"Will do!" the lady said as she began writing furiously into her register. 

Kid pondered for a moment then turned back to look at Serge and Leena. "Or do we need two? Huh, mate?" she poked Serge in his chest. 

"Oh! I'd love to!" Serge responded quickly. Turning to the owner, he added, "Give us two rooms, please."

"No, we'll just take one!" Leena quickly interrupted, shaking her head at the stubbornness of her two friends who were still far from teammates.

The inn lady only smiled at the two and said nothing to the war of words. As soon as she finished the paperwork, she handed over the keys to Kid. "Enjoy your stay. And please inform me if you need anything," she said politely.

"Thank you!" said Leena.

The three walked up the stairs, to their room door, unlocked it and walked into the room. Leena and Serge followed.

Three beds of comfortable white sheets greeted them. Leena slouched in relief, glad to see rest waiting for her taking. She took a deep breath and forgot about the stifling heat that still stung her skin, and forgot about the perilous mission this evening, for the cozy beds had bound her instantly under a spell of sleep. She dove into the middle bed and groaned in pleasure as the cool sheets washed over her like the water that flushed her body and spirit when she dove into the sea. She rolled left and right and giggled in delight, contented to be lost in her own angelic world, as if she were the angel in heaven.

Kid went to the rightmost bed, snuggled into it, pulled up the sheets and fell asleep almost immediately, with snores horrendously loud they could bring the roof down. Leena sat up, jolted by the new discovery that made her gape at Kid in amazement. Serge, he shook his head, sighed in surrender and snuggled into the last bed. He lied down, pulled the sheets over him and faced the ceiling with his eyes wide open, hands under his head.

Leena slumped back down onto the bed lazily, her head sinking comfortably into the soft pillow. She wore a smile of relief as she stared up into the plain yet beautiful ceiling. 

"The bed feels..." said Leena as she searched for a word of an appropriate description.

"Good," said Serge monotonously.

Leena turned onto her side and faced Serge.

"Serge, do you really dislike Kid that much?" she asked.

Serge stared at the ceiling without an answer.

"I'm sure you don't," said Leena.

"I don't know."

"I can tell, Serge, how you feel about her. Even as you argue, you look at her differently."

"I can't be certain."

"Fair enough. But don't be too stubborn."

Serge heaved a long sigh, his gazed still fixed on the ceiling. After a short moment of silence, he finally spoke. "Leena?" he asked as he closed his eyes. 

"Yes?"

"How is Arni the way you know today?"

"You sure you are ready to listen?" Leena asked.

"Yes. Please."

"Well, then," she said as she turned to face the ceiling. "Well, the Arni I lived has a chief named Gonji -- not Radius."

Leena went into detail all that was bad and unbecoming of a village chief. Gonji was lazy; he never worked and expected the villagers to. He never liked to spend a single cent but still expected the best. For as long as Gonji never paid, he was happy, at the expense of the suffering of all the other villagers.

When Leena had not yet finished for a quarter of an hour, Serge had already fallen asleep with a soft snore. She turned on her side again, and set her eyes on his closed eyes that were gentle and restful and lulling her to sleep. She stared intently as she counted the moments that passed and counted the number of friends that were close to her. The moments were long, but her friends were few; and fewer even were of such closeness as with Serge. When she met Serge for the first yesterday, instincts told her he was a friend she could place her trust in. He was sometimes daft and not too outspoken. But he was straightforward and when he spoke his heart, it felt as if he encouraged her to speak her own. 

She spent half the hour looking and etching the expression his in her memory. Then, she finally turned back up to the ceiling.

"Good night..." she whispered softly as she slowly drifted into slumber with a smile on her face. ..._Serge._

And Kid still snored away.


	8. Book 1 Chapter 7 The Intrusion

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**7   The Intrusion**

A clear day brought about a bright, warm morning and weather excellent for their daily games in the yard with her playmates. Time flies when one has fun. And so the joyous moments ended quickly at the call for lunch. Reluctantly, everyone headed back to their home in which they shared, after they promised each other of another anticipated session in the afternoon.

Kid was the first to walk through the door while she laughed. But her laughter was silenced by the sight of a strangely dressed man. He held an unpleasant conversation with Sis that soon became a heated argument. Kid became frightened and confused, for she had never seen Sis speak with a tone so enraged, so grave. 

The man turned to stare Kid with a face she could not see. However hard she tried to focus, his features remained a constant blur, as if they were clouded behind a thick fog through which only his baleful eyes peered. Kid retreated helplessly, as the fearsome man rushed to her and lifted her up effortlessly by her blouse.

"Sis! Help!" Kid screamed for help in fright as she tried desperately to free herself of the grasp.

"Release her!" Sis cried. "She's only a child, you despicable cat! I know what you seek! But I will not let that artifact fall into the wrong hands!"

"It belongs to me. You chose to keep it behind lock and key."

"It was _never _yours to begin with!"

"Is that so?" said the man, unfazed by the show of courage. 

He released Kid, who fell hard on the floor. Kid screamed in pain and burst into tears.

"Kid!" Sis shrieked and rushed over to Kid to help her up. "Kid! Are you hurt?" Sis examined her arms and legs and then hugged her tightly. "Are you all right?" she sobbed.

"Sis!" Kid wailed as she rubbed her tears against Sis' arms. 

The man walked past them to the door. "I have no wish to force you," he said as he disappeared into the brightness of the day. "When I return, I expect a favorable reply."

"Sis...," Kid mumbled in tears as she opened her eyes. She sat up on the bed and wiped her cheeks of the tears. It was another dream, one that she had everyday without fail. Everyday never ended either, without Kid thinking of Sis, the only kin she had in this world. But Sis was no longer around. And Kid was left alone to raise and fend for herself. 

For five years, she had lived out her life as a wanderer. For five years, she slept under the stars when she found no roof and ate frogs, insects and venison in the raw when she found no other food. She knew of life as running like a fugitive from lands that did not accept her. She knew of homes that were leaves and branches and of family that were birds, tigers and lions. But things had not been all that bad. At the very least, she had sought shelter by the temples' and churches' compassion and had sought many more comfortable ones in the warehouses of filthy rich merchants and secret vaults of top ruling officials. 

But after five long years, it was time to recover all that she had lost.

Kid glanced at her newfound teammates, both who were sound asleep. The mid afternoon sun that streamed through the window signaled the beginning of her mission. She jumped out of her bed, left the room, descended the stairs into the lobby and then walked out of the inn. 

Stalls had closed and music had ceased by late afternoon, leaving behind a quiet town of stray animals that scurried across streets, scavenging the last of food on the floor. A layer of dust that settled over the lower part of the town brought on an enchanting view of the jungle of concrete white. Children relished the final moments of the day and the long stretches of empty streets, playing catch and running away from each other and from their parents. Dinner tinted the stifling air with an aromatic blend of home-cooked delicacies as the population gradually retreated to their residence.

Kid bolted for downtown and to an items storehouse. She knocked on the door to make sure no one answered and to discover that it was locked from within. She walked to an open window, studied its size and studied the interiors. She scanned both sides of the streets and made sure it was clear before she jumped effortlessly through the window. She landed silently on the inside and rolled upright. She stood to her feet and headed swiftly to the wooden window to shut her presence to the world outside. 

In the dim lighting that stole through holes in the rotting window, she examined the shop and its collection of worn-out weapons and of old, dusty miscellaneous. She went over to the shelves and helped herself to a heavy rope whose thickness and coils indicated to her it was just less than thirty feet. After she slung the heavy coil over shoulders, she gifted herself with a sturdy three-pronged hook and some short, steel wires. Finally, she withdrew herself some savings of gold pieces from a wooden box at the store's counter, but she took no more than what she needed for the day's payments. Kid took a final glance for better offerings and when she found none, she headed for the door and left the storehouse clean and neat.

Kid strode down the streets calmly, back to the inn and into its lobby. She checked out at the receptionist and paid the cash she had conveniently taken from the storehouse. She hurried up into her room and flung the door open. She kicked her foot into both beds with a crash that jolted the two sleepyheads awake.

 "Oi!" she hollered at her loudest voice as she shook the two vigorously. "Time to wake up!"

Leena moaned, "It's time to leave?"

Serge opened his blurry eyes, sat up on the bed and started groaning.

"Get out of the bed, you lazy blokes!" Kid demanded impatiently. "We've to be at the manor before dark."

"What are those you hold?" asked Leena as the weary eyes of hers fell upon the coils of rope around Kid's shoulders. "Where did you get them?"

"Mountaineering equipment I bought with toil and sweat," Kid replied as she dragged Serge and Leena out of the bed. "Come on! Let's get those lazy arses moving."

Serge and Leena dragged themselves back. "Hold it! Wait!" they both resisted wearily. They grabbed their belongings just in time before Kid forcefully pulled them out of the room, down to the lobby and out into the evening town.

Kid led the small party of three towards the outskirts of the town where the river flowed. The ferryman waited as promised at the edge of the now quiet town. Armed with his wooden oar and pacing the coast restlessly, he seemed impatient for his customers and his earnings for the day. His eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope when he saw Kid and her comrades approaching him, a glimmer that shone like gold pieces did. He greeted Kid with a sense of eagerness as he waved his customers over. 

"It's you!" the ferryman yelped. "I've been waiting!"

"Here's the fee," Kid said, slapping into his palm exactly sixty gold pieces, again courtesy of the storehouse.

The miserable price must have reminded the ferryman of the bargaining earlier in the day, for his shoulders sagged and looked as if he fell into a state of defeat. He shook his head while he counted his meager salary and made sure every cent was paid. When he finished counting thrice, he invited his customers up on board his wooden boat.

The wooden sail boat was two-hulled, one of which served as a sitting area, while the other, as a buoy. Connected by means of poles hammered into the hulls and a wooden deck across, the flimsy sail boat looked almost ready to fall apart.

Kid took her stand on the wooden deck at the starboard side, while Serge and Leena took their seat at the main hull and placed weapons on the base of the hull. The ferryman boarded. When satisfied that his customers were secure, he dipped his oar into the river and began to row the boat out skillfully through the Termina River into the sea. As soon as the winds were strong enough, the ferryman lifted the sails and let nature powered the boat into the seas.

Karsh was a member of the Acacia Dragoons, a Deva so to speak. The Four Devas of the Acacia Dragoons were the elite commanders of the military, chosen by the general after a series of grueling training and rigorous tests.

The generations of Devas were comprised of four elites who answered to no one but the general of the Viper family himself. Among the Devas, the best would be crowned the leader of the Devas and the leader of all their subordinates. In a sense, he could be considered the second in-command to the general. During an absence of the General, the leader of the Deva was the acting command and his orders were as good as those spoken from the general himself. The leader of the previous generation of Devas -- the thirteenth generation -- Garai died in an accident. His death, till today, remained a mystery. 

When the previous generation of Devas descended, fresh blood took over. In the fourteenth generation of Devas, there were three elites, one of whom was Karsh. The fourth elite, the leader of the Devas by the name of Dario, son of Garai, had passed away some four years ago, again in a mishap of the unfortunate that seemed to befall on the family of Garai if they took the post of the leader of the Devas. 

Rumor had it that the Deva Karsh was with him at the time of his death, and was said to be the only one who had witnessed everything, if anything at all. Rumor also had it that Karsh seemed reluctant to speak of anything that happened on that day. Suspicions rose and his credibility as a Deva dove. Many speculated that Karsh had his eyes on the post of the leader of the Devas, while others attributed it to his jealousy. 

Dario had been engaged to Lady Riddel, princess of the royal family, daughter of General Viper. Lady Riddel was considered an angel descended from heaven among all levels of society, Dragoons and non-Dragoons, high-ranking and the average man alike, for she was not just pretty in looks, she was beautiful in all aspects: intellect, charm, personality. Her suitors were aplenty, among which, Karsh was believed to be a likely suspect. Shortly after the announcement of their engagement, Dario died. 

"So, you see. It's obvious Karsh was the culprit," the ferryman concluded. "But charges haven't been formally brought against him, even after three years."

By the end of the long history lesson, eagerly conducted by the ferryman at the request of Kid, Serge was dozing off.

"Oi! Serge!" Kid yelled.

"What?" Serge snapped. 

Leena giggled as she shook her head. 

Kid kept her cool, for she knew better to infuriate a teammate prior to a mission. "So what's your story? Being a ghost and all that."

"I don't know," Serge said reluctantly with a shrug.

"You kidding, mate? You don't know?" Kid asked as she glared at Serge, irked by his obvious pettiness.

Serge grunted noisily. "I fainted then everything seemed to have changed. It seems that I died ten years ago."

"What? You died ten years ago?" Kid yelled in surprised.

Kid recalled the beginning of her life as a wanderer when she slept amongst the wild. The slightest of sounds startled her who was then only eleven years of age, for she feared for the likes of ghosts and spirits that she imagined had come to haunt her. She ran for her life and she kept running every time until she learnt how to dispose of the sound by scaring off and killing what made it. Soon, she came to realize that even the most horrific and gut-churning of mortal sounds must come from mortal beings. Ghosts and spirits did not exist, unlike the fanatics of such superstition loved to claim.

"Look at you. You are as fit as a fiddle," she dismissed. "So what exactly happened to you ten years ago? You don't remember?" 

Serge shook head, eyes still fixed on the ocean.

"I thought so. You were just a little squirt ten years ago. Of course you don't remember. But it's perfectly normal."

Serge grunted, turned back to his view of the sea and kept stubbornly wordless.

"Cheer up, eh?" she counseled. "We'll find out what's going on soon enough."

As Kid spoke those words, she realized she could not wait. Soon enough was still too long for her, just as those five years were. She turned back and gazed upon the seas that rolled off the horizon, and began to imagine the vast ocean as a vast desert, where its waves were its dunes of sands. She had thirst for company and concern as she dragged her feet forlornly across the uninhabited plains. The rains of love had never fallen upon and refreshed her skin, but instead she found that the heat of despise and betrayal of her fellow humans had constantly sapped her spirit. The lonely road through the desert plains had been long but her thirst for blood and revenge, and her hunger for all she had lost to be returned to her had kept her forging ahead. 

Finally, the road was about to come to end.

She drifted out of her thoughts and focused back on the horizon. She drew a long, silent breath and then exhaled.

"Kid, there's something I feel you should know," Serge said softly but seriously. "I remembered this while I rested at the inn earlier. Yesterday morning, before all these changes occurred, I woke up from a dream, a very strange dream."

"What?" Kid asked, surprised by his change of attitude. "A strange dream?"

"I saw you in that dream, exactly the way as you look now. But yesterday morning, we haven't yet met each other. That is why I sense something about this dream, like an ill omen. I don't know what this dream foretells, but I want you to be very careful, especially of me."

"And why's that?"

"I might" -- he paused -- "hurt you. I saw you, in the dream, lying in a pool of red. I held in my hand a dagger stained with your blood."

"Get off it! Don't make me laugh! I'll be alright, mate!" She pointed her thumb at her own face fearlessly. The talk of ghosts and spirits could not scare her, and neither could that of dreams of the ominous. She knew that if she wanted something, she would not wait for them to fall from the heavens, for they never did. She had to seize it, even if it meant she had to pluck the stars and the two moons from the sky. She knew that if she did not want something dreadful to come to pass, she would not sit around and pray for the best. She would take steps to prevent it from happening at all costs, even if it meant she had to cross the fine and always wobbly line that they called "law."

"I don't go down that easy. Besides, I'm pretty sure you aren't thinking of stabbing me at me back, are you?" with a smile Kid added, as an afterthought. 

Serge kept silent and all comments to himself. 

To Kid, the world was one of nonsense. If she put it crudely, the world had on it piled full of dung and feces. Man waded arduously through the muck like they raced to mountains that permitted them to stand above all things that smelled foul, things that included man himself. To achieve such grand goals, man pulled friend and foe down, threw dung at each other or forced another to swallow handfuls. Everyone did what the other did, as if such were customary rites that all must follow.

Kid had been caught in such miserable situations before. The best of friends in best of times became the worst of enemies with a turn of the back. He who knew too much was as helpful as he was dangerous, for knowledge of one's self was a sword whose edges cut both ways. She had learnt such lessons the hard way: her comrades had snitched on her, had divulged her secrets and had informed the authorities. She had been thrown into the prison cells courtesy of those who had been once sworn siblings, of those who had once sworn to see each other through thick and thin. She had escaped sentence by fleeing from the trials, but ever since such wounds had been dealt upon her, she had learnt never to trust people again.

From her experience, she would have seen a man of such quiet pettiness such as Serge as a threat to her well-being. Yet, she had faith in this stranger, as if he were a true friend. She didn't know why she would have even suggested teaming up the first time they met and she didn't why she trusted him. She just felt that way, as if she knew him a long time ago. 

Perhaps it was because Kid saw in Serge none of the foul-smelling personality that she was familiar with. Those eyes of blue did not steal glances from its corner, and did not peer through squinting eyelids like he would if he harbored vengeful intentions. Those same eyes were indisputably troubled by the events that had befallen its owner even if the owner chose to hide his emotions behind a sharp, bickering tongue. For his report about the dream, she was certain Serge could be even likeable. If only he continued to speak his mind often, like a real (good) man did.

For the next quarter of an hour of the ride, only the sounds of the boat slicing through the waves could be heard, until Leena broke the silence.

"Kid?" said Leena.

"Yes."

"Do you always talk like that?"

"Like what?"

"You sound a little boyish," Leena said diplomatically.

"Why?" Kid glared at Leena, who seemed to wince.

"Why, it sounds terrible coming from a girl!" she explained with a smile.

"I think I'm starting to like you. You are one frank lassie!" Kid gave a thumbs-up at Leena while she cast a disdainful glance at Serge. "But that's just me," she admitted, patting her chest. "Been speaking like that for a while now!"

"Are you not afraid you will scare away your other half?" Leena asked again. 

"Hah!" Kid yelled. "I don't need no other half!"

"But it's lonely," Leena said, looking over at Serge, who paid _no _attention at the ladies' conversation, lost in his own world while he gazed blankly into the distance. "Besides, everybody needs someone to accompany her throughout her life. How about..." -- Leena pointed subtly a thumb at Serge.

The boat jerked a little for the ferryman almost lost control of his footing. Everyone except Serge stared at the ferryman and he apologized under pressure.

"This Beachbum?" Kid continued, pointing to Serge. "He may have an arse of a face, but he does _seem _adorable."

"Who are you calling Beachbum and arse?" retorted Serge who had pulled himself back into reality from his daydream.

"I'm surprised you even listened," Kid said sarcastically.

"Stop it, you two!" Leena ordered.

"If I ever wanted an other half, you won't stand the _best _chance," Kid tested him as she observed his expression and waited for some pleasant reactions.

"That's a relief," mocked Serge. "You'd be the last on my mind. Perhaps I should say, you'll never be."

Kid clenched her fist tight, restraining the urge to smack his arrogant face. But the ferryman found it hilarious and burst into uncontrollable laughter. The boat shook as hard as he did.

"What's so funny?" "What do you think you're laughing at, you skinny bones!" Serge and Kid barked at the same time.

Leena, who watched the event with amusement, burst out in soft giggles.

The ferryman stopped laughing and the boat stopped shaking. As he returned to his task of steering, he said with a smiling voice, "Nothing! Nothing at all!"

"Keep those eyes of yours on the water, you bloke!" Kid roared furiously, wondering what in the world could have tickled this other detestable being. 

Just when Kid began to change her impression of Serge, he destroyed all the good of it with the insult he just hurled. She decided he was doomed to be a hypocrite for the rest of his life. She could only hope that his lips that did not speak the heart would not speak the words that would land her in hot soup, like a traitor would. 

Kid thanked Serge in her mind that reminder. She would be careful.

The setting sun left the sea in a saturated blaze of orange. The cloudless sky was like a canopy of striking orange, smoldering flames before the night took over from the east and doused them out. The sea winds that powered the sail boat were fiery and suffocating. Such was the heat worse than anything Kid had experienced beyond the continents of El Nido. It continued to sting her skin as if she were being bitten by red ants of an army in tens of thousands. Her skin had tanned much in these two days of travel than it had in the last five years in the world outside, as if El Nido had above it a lens of monolithic proportions that directed the sun's rays onto its lands and its people. 

As they approached, they saw Viper Manor, the headquarters of the only military force in El Nido, graced the peak of a steep, seemingly insurmountable cliff of at least two hundred feet tall. The manor's front faced southwards into the lands of the central continent while its back faced the ocean and the incoming intruders. Fortified with walls of stone, the Viper Manor was said to be an impregnable fortress, guarded by watchful sentries and armed patrols. If caught, the perpetrator would no doubt be thrown straight into jail, or hung without a trial convened and judgment passed. No single being were known to have broken into it successfully. Perhaps, no one ever dared try. 

Not until tonight.

The hour-long ride brought the intruders to the base of the cliff, directly beneath their target. Kid alighted eagerly and began sizing the vertical obstacle while her teammates unloaded their belongings.

"Thank you for the ride," said Leena to the ferryman.

"It's my job," the ferryman said. Then he pointed his finger to Kid who was studying intently the cliff. "Hey, you! Ms. Kid! You'd be careful, now."

Kid raised a hand in gesture without a word and paid no heed to the untimely concern. The ferryman picked up his boat oar and began to row his boat away. 

Kid stepped back to the edge of the base and then into shallow waters for a view of the cliff at a best angle. Her gaze shifted about the rocky cliff, surface to surface, rock to rock, ledge to ledge. The setting sun cast shadows of rocks against the cliff and indicated to her the footing of each protrusion. She drew a path in her mind that linked from one safe ledge the simplest path that reached the summit where the manor awaited. She watched out for ferns and growth that were loose and mentally noted those that should not be stepped upon if unnecessary. She identified where they would rock climb, and where the rope would come into use. 

Kid turned to look and Serge and Leena and studied their expressions. "You blokes fine with this?"

"Yes," Serge said monotonously.

"I-I think so," Leena said shakily.

"Okay, listen up. The first seventy feet or so, we would have to climb on the rocks up to that ledge over there," she directed as she pointed to the appropriate parts of the cliff. "No choice, it's too bloody far for the rope to reach. Once we hit the first ledge, I alone will climb onto the second ledge over there, plant the rope, and drop it down for the both of you blokes. Then you climb up on the rope. Understood?"

Serge and Leena nodded.

"It's only about forty, fifty feet. After that we have to climb on the rocks again from another fifty feet until we hit that small ledge over there, can you see?"

They nodded again.

"After that the slope eases up and the rest of the fifty feet should be easy. But when we climb I don't want no noises, no chatting, no screaming and no looking down, you hear? Nobody pisses until I do."

They nodded again and then Serge looked up blankly at the steep cliff.

"Oi!" Kid yelled at Serge and caught his attention. "Your swallow's dangerous if it falls. Disassemble it, buckle it to your. Leena and I will go up first, so that if it falls and you do, it's not going take any of us with it."

Serge nodded and did as he was told.

"You're below us only because of your swallow. I don't want you to get no dirty ideas, you hear, mate? Look at only where Leena steps and no where else." 

Serge ears flushed a red that made the orange of the evening sky pale in comparison. His eyes darted about in embarrassment from Kid's chest to Kid's bare thighs and then into the sea as he fumbled with his swallow.

Kid glanced at Leena who was blowing breath anxiously into her tensed, clasped hands. Kid laid an assuring hand on Leena's shoulder. "We'll be fine," said Kid. "Keep your eyes open and keep you mind focused. Just hold on to what I do, and step on where I step."

Leena nodded feebly.

"Are we ready?" asked Kid. "Take a deep breath. We'll be up there by the time you know it."

Serge and Leena nodded again.

Kid took the lead and climbed the rocky cliff. Her hands grabbed and her feet stepped as she looked up ahead another fifteen feet to find the next best route to take. She had scaled far tougher cliffs and far taller mountains than this, which was of little trouble to her. She was only concerned for the two inexperienced who seemed struggle with every move. She proceeded slowly such that Leena could see where she should step, for one miss of the foot would send her plunging down along with Serge. If they were fortunate, they would splash into the water and might still escape unscathed. Otherwise, they would crash into the rocky coast below and their journey would end there. The climb could have been faster, for the abundance of rocks and natural ledges made holding and footing easy. But Serge's and Leena's irresistible need to check their height slowed everyone down.

"Are we there yet?" grumbled Leena.

"Wow, it's really high," added Serge.

"I don't think I can make it, Kid," insisted Leena.

"What did I say?" Kid whispered. "No talking! No looking down!"

They passed one ledge after another successfully, until they reached the last fifty feet that sloped but sloped steeply, that provided no flat ground for standing, only jagged rocks to hold one's footing. When Kid ascended up the top of the slope, she directed Leena and Serge to confined, but comfortable spaces. As they panted furiously, they were both contented to flatten themselves against the walls of stone that fortified the Viper Manor grounds. 

Kid found a small protrusion from the slope on which she comfortably rested her left foot and placed the other on another rock set against the stone wall. She crossed her arms and looked down directly below her where the waves of the sea that crashed into the cliffs. She did not fear the heights and could walk on a plank thousand miles in the air as if she walked on the ground. She only feared for the two who might, in haste and terror, pull each other down. Kid signaled them to stand further from each other apart while she kept a good, comfortable distance from them.

Kid gave the thumbs up as she smiled at them. "Chicken feed?" she mouthed quietly. "Take deep breaths. Enjoy scenery."

From where they stood, the sky and the ocean of burning orange encompassed their field of vision. Lone islands and land masses stood scattered in the middle of the sea and merged with their own reflection in the sea to form a splendid visual of mountainous rocks that seemed to float in mid air. 

As Serge and Leena spent their terrified moments gazing into the seas, Kid scrutinized the environs and calculated their movements. Judging from the height of the wall, she could make it to the top if she jumped. She spotted trees on her left planted within the manor grounds that stood out above the top of the fence and would cover her ascend.

Kid drew the charts in her mind and laid the steps for the break-in. She got Serge's and Leena's and attention and began signaling with her hands and mouthing her plans to them. 

"I give you two one end of the rope. When sun sets, no light. I tug rope twice, then I jump and climb up onto wall behind trees there" -- she pointed -- "I anchor the other end of rope inside. When I'm ready, I tug rope twice, Leena climbs, Serge hold end of rope. Then, I tug rope twice, Serge climbs. Once you are over, hide behind tree. No noise. No move until I say so. Understood?"

Serge and Leena nodded. They seemed contented to just follow, and seemed astounded at her strategic forethoughts. Kid gave the thumbs up, handed Serge and Leena one end of the rope and waited eagerly for nightfall.

Night fell and darkness blanketed the lands.

Kid tugged the rope twice as she had instructed and readied them for the intrusion. She felt her blood rush with anticipation as she leapt swiftly on to the ledge of the stone wall with the rest of the rope coiled around her neck. Using the momentum from the jump, she swung one leg across the wall to secure her position at the top. She inspected the other side of the wall for silent landing. When she found a suitable spot, she glided off the ledge and landed softly in the manor's grounds.

Kid tied the rope around the tree and tugged it. The rope tautened. It grazed the top of the wall and quivered wildly until Leena finally came into sight over the wall, much to Kid's relief. Leena jumped and Kid caught her to cushion her fall. She gave the tug again and Serge quickly found his way up the wall. He jumped in and Kid caught him. She untied the rope, carefully hid the heavy coil in the bushes behind and took a quick glimpse of the settings.

The moons of mystic silver and crimson red hung in the clear, starlit night sky and cast its soothing light upon the grounds of the majestic palace. The manor spanned an entire mile on all four sides and never looked so big from afar as it did now. The yard, where the threesome now hid, was a hundred feet wide garden. Its grass and bushes were neatly trimmed into decorative hedges that lined against the side of the walls of fortification. The manor stood against the back of the fortified wall as its characteristic gold, domed roofs reached to the skies and reflected a polished gleam even in the pale moonlight. A balcony extended from the manor's rear tower and overlooked into the northern seas of the archipelago. A few low watchtowers overlooked the poorly-lit yards with a searchlight that swept across the ground, a searchlight controlled by sentries on the alert. Guards patrolled and covered the ground as they moved from checkpoint to checkpoint within and without the manor.

As the three laid low, in the cover of trees and the darkness in the manor's yard, Kid studied the environment and etched the layout of every door, every window, every corner, every stone and every patrolling soldier into the blueprint of her mind. She inspected those windows that were closed but skipped those that remained opened but grilled. She discovered that there were no doors accessible from the yard, and planned the move to enter the manor from its front entrance. She identified which stalk of grass would rustle if she brushed through and where on the ground sand would scrape and notify the guards. She knew which hedge, wall or stone provided cover and which revealed her whereabouts to the sentries. She watched each and every guard's movements, behaviors, their pattern of patrol and their timings.

After an hour of patient observation, Kid learned of two patrolling pairs of guards, each alternating between the front and the side yards. She timed their patrols that each took about half of an hour to complete one cycle and was aware that she could sneak past their sights easily in this window. It might prove quite a challenge, however, in getting her two inexperienced fellow members across.

An archway that formed a divide between the front and the side yard more than a half mile from where they stood also formed a cover for the group's next position. An old tree and its wide canopy provided the excellent shade and the strategic view of the front yard. In the moonlight, Kid turned to Serge and Leena and signaled with her hands to ready themselves for a dash to their cover. Kid would go first, and as soon as the coast was clear, she would signal them to cross. 

Serge and Leena nodded obediently.

As soon as the guard's had their backs towards the three, Kid seized the chance and crept swiftly across the long yard in five minutes. She reached the arch, rested her back against the tree and turned to observe where Serge and Leena were still at, where they remained sufficiently invisible to the unwary eye. Satisfied with their hiding, she observed the position of the moons. With that fixed in her mind, she turned her attention to the guards. When she noted the path to be clear, she unsheathed her dagger to catch and reflect the moonlight at Serge and Leena, and then quickly sheathed her dagger. At the signal, she saw the two scurrying clumsily over to where she was. Kid held her breath not for herself, but for her two teammates, whose five minutes across the yard seemed to take thrice as long to pass. By the moment they reached her, they were panting from the overflow of panic. 

Kid had her eyes sweep the front yard that was almost twice as huge as the side yard. She set her sights on a low water well, close to which stood a lone Acacia guard. His position covered a peripheral scope of the yard -- front yard and side -- so if the eyes of the security must be severed and replaced with eyes of their own, this lone guard had to be taken out. After signaling her intention to her teammates, she readied herself for the next sprint.

When all watchful eyes looked away, Kid stepped out of the shadows and sprinted to the well furtively. She crept up behind the unsuspecting guard. In a swift motion, she cupped the guard's mouth and struck a silent elbow at the guard's neck, rendering him unconscious instantly. Kid stood behind him and supported his waist for she knew the front yard patrol would come into view this moment, and so they did. Her heart pounded against her ears as the guards patrolled the front yard some hundred feet away. But the hefty build of the soldier, the long distance and the poor lighting shielded her well from their sights. 

After a long quarter of the hour, the patrol finally cleared the grounds. She rested the guard on the well and its wooden supports and rearranged his limbs to make it look as if he had fallen asleep on the job. Then, she ducked into cover behind the well and scanned the rest of the front yard from this angle, and the entrance to the manor as well with keen interest.

Light from within the manor stole through a slit in the two entrance grand doors of red. Two thick and round columns that beautified the porch provided another, perhaps one too many, easy cover for Kid. 

Catching the moonlight, she signaled Serge and Leena over to the well. Once they arrived, she signed again the next step that would finally bring them into the manor.

Once the yard was clear, Kid flitted to the entrance and pushed the doors, only to find them locked. She retreated in reflex behind the porch pillars, cursing beneath her breath that the manor that stood before her still seemed a distance away. 

Kid drew a breath and regained her composure. She had the timing of the guards memorized and she slowly counted for the moment. When the appropriated moment ticked, she drew her steel wires and started digging her way slowly into the lock. The lock stopped troubling her in less than a quarter of an hour, when it clicked softly and released. 

Kid retreated against the column and counted again. As soon as the time was right, she revealed herself and signaled Serge and Leena over. The two scurried like across the long front yard like nervous mice that ran from ferocious cats. When they were about twenty feet away, Kid pushed the entrance door ajar for their convenience. Just as she did so, Leena tripped over a stone and fell flat onto the ground with a yelp. Taking no chances, Kid darted to Leena, hauled her up to her feet as she whispered, "Hurry inside!" The three bolted for the manor doors and shut it tight behind them.

Footsteps shuffled outside as the patrols rushed to the scene for an investigation. As Kid stood back to the door and eavesdropped on the guards' conversation, Serge and Leena stood nervously beside her. Leena had her mouth shut with her hands as tight as she shut both eyes of hers, as if she were about to burst out in tears any moment. Serge was panting furiously with beads of perspiration rolling down his eyes and cheeks, as if he were already in tears. Kid gripped Leena's arm firmly, to hush her and calm her tense nerves.

"Did you hear anything?" the guard outside asked.

"I'm certain I heard someone shouting. But I don't see anyone, or anything here!" said another.

"I've heard such strange noises on my other duties as well. I don't know what's going on, but I'm sure that beast has something to do with it."

"Strange things have been happening these years," said a third voice. "It happens so often it's no longer strange."

"Hey!" cried a fourth nervous voice. "Don't scare me like that. Come on! Let's get back to work. I want to this detail to end at the earliest chance."

The patrols left and returned to their duty. Fortunately, they had not yet discovered their comrade who had fallen asleep on the job at the water well. 

A break-in was easy alone but tricky with two infants who tagged along behind, who need constant care and protection, and someone to hold their hands at every single step. Had Serge not needed a ride into the manor to meet his problems in the face, she would not even have considered taking them along. The journey into the manor suffered minor hiccups along the way, but things seemed to have turned out better than Kid had expected. Her two teammates were stunned stiff, but they got to where they wanted without being discovered, and that what was counted. 

"That was close, eh?" Kid whispered with a smile. Kid patted Leena on her shoulder, and said, "Don't worry about what happened just now, mate. You did well."

The tension had eased for Leena, but not subsided, for she still smiled nervously as she said, "T-Thanks."

"Kid, just who are you?" Serge asked.

Who was she? A query of such nature came as no surprise to Kid for she had heard similar ones a thousand times before. But a query of such nature came at wrong time, for it should have been asked before one accepted into a team another of an unfamiliar face. Until this moment, she was never questioned. Yet, it was at this moment she came to ascertain that Serge and Leena did not look upon her with distrust but with reliance and confidence; they looked upon her as a friend, like she did to them.

"No time for chit-chat, now," she reminded. "We still have work to do."

The spacious, grand hall of the manor impressed upon their visitors with its architecture of royal design. Two chandeliers hung from the ceiling and cast a light of yellow on the polished, checkered marble flooring onto which a huge crest of a dragon of gold within a dark circle of gray -- symbol of the Acacia Dragoons -- had been incorporated. Paintings of the contemporary and the classic that ornamented the walls of vanilla beige added nothing more or less than the look of affluence to the regal ambience. Corridors that stretched from the grand hall and doors that opened to other parts of the palace were aplenty, but one in particular had caught Kid's keen eye. With a splash of royal red, gold-crafted handles and two heavy doors, it seemed as if it beckoned Kid towards her enemy.

Indeed, she found herself walking obediently towards its calling. But when she pushed into the heavy doors, they refused to budge and refused to grant access to the area beyond it.

"Wishful thinking," Kid said and grunted.

"What are we going to do now, Kid?" Leena asked nervously.

"I'm working at it!" Kid whispered. 

Affixed on the wall at the door's side was a control carved from gold into the emblem of a venomous cobra. Its menacing eyes of dark quartz stared into the eyes of those who looked, its tongue and its fangs of cold silver stuck out from its mouth as if it were hungry for one's flesh. Its fiery body of gold below the head flattened into a panel on which four buttons protruded; buttons that must open the red door to a restricted area.

Kid had climbed the cliffs, leapt over the walls, sneaked through the yard and picked the entrance successfully, but this stumped her. She had never fancied the likes of combination buttons as locking devices and had found most to be proofed against the pilfering hands. Keys could be mimicked with steel wires until the innards adjusted to allow the latch to unlock. Knobs of dials could be turned and clicks could be listened out for. But buttons offered little clue to its inner, and often complex mechanisms of chains and gears, levers and hinges. In some systems, they had to be pressed in order; in other systems, groups of buttons had to be depressed simultaneously.

And after she had demonstrated to Serge and Leena all the talents to bring them in, it would be quite embarrassing if she failed to open this.

"This is tricky," Kid mused, fingers rubbing her chin. "Oi! Serge!"

"How can I be of help?" Serge whispered humbly.

Kid startled at his attitude. "Well, you say you dream of omens. Can you dream of how to open this bugger?"

"I'm not sure I can," Serge said. "I only had one such dream. I don't suppose another one will come when I wish to. Can't you pick it?"

"Not when the whole panel is built into the wall," Kid replied, defeated.

"Then what do we do?" asked Leena.

"We guess," replied Kid. "We can only guess and see where it leads us to."

"Why don't we look around the place?" suggested Leena.

"In our uniforms like these?" said Kid, pointing to each of their striking civilian dressing. "The door should lead to the throne room above. Castles and palaces and manors are all built this damned way. If we look around the place at this level, we won't find anything except for maid's rooms, mess, quarters and a hell lot of guards waiting to pounce on us. So I say we might as well go for the panel, then decide later if it hell refuses to work.

"So are we for guessing?" asked Kid.

Serge and Leena nodded.

"Okay," said Kid. "I'll do it, even though I hate to rely on luck. And if anything shoots out -- anything at all -- run. Run for your own lives."

It had been a while since she said something like that. "Run for your own lives." Those were the days when she was younger, when she shared dreams with her fellow comrades-in-arms and protected each other as if they were part of one whole. 

Kid cracked her fingers. Without thinking further, she pressed the four buttons in order from bottom to top.

Chugging sounds rumbled through the walls and floor of the hall like the trains that chugged along the rails. The mechanical magic was in motion as the huge doors slowly pivoted on their hinges. The pleasant sounds took Kid by surprise, but her instincts told her something was amiss. She stepped back, studied her surroundings and scanned intently for trapdoors that might open, for volleys of arrows that would pierce their flesh, for throws of flames that would consume their body. She pulled Serge and Leena cautiously back to the grand hall entrance, ready to haul them out of the manor should the need arise. 

The two heavy doors opened wide and the rumbles ceased. But no traps were released.

Serge and Leena gaped at Kid in surprise, as if they were once again astounded by her talents. But Kid was not impressed at herself for achieving such a feat of guessing. Ninety-nine times out of hundred times she had gotten the locks' combination wrong; this was the only time she had it right.

"Either I was plain lucky, or some bloke's leading us in," Kid explained as she walked towards the flight of stairs. "Come on! Let's go!"


	9. Book 1 Chapter 8 The Missing Piece

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**8   The Missing Piece**

Had Kid not been with them tonight, Serge had to admit, that the only way to discover what had happened to him was to allow General Viper to capture him. It never crossed his mind to infiltrate the manor that was said to be impregnable. Even if he had, he would have not gotten past ten steps past the fortified walls. She remained boisterous, boyish and unforgivably rude for a girl. But he respected her, respected her thieving talents that got them here and appreciated the unconditional help she offered to someone she did not know. Now that they had gotten in, he hoped she knew a good way out.

The manor was empty, uncomfortably empty. They walked the second level unhindered with no guard who stood between arches, who cordoned off sections of the manor, and who spotted them and raised the alarm. Only empty armors of knights stood against the corridors donning helmets through which eyes seemed to peer. The air was tinted with the scent of royalty, but silent like the basements of a haunted mansion. Intermittent chandeliers glorified the ceilings, but brought to life nothing animated on the floor. The threesome's footsteps exploded in the creepy silence even as they walked on carpeted ground, like thunder that clapped in the calm before a storm.

Serge shared Kid's hunches, that all this seemed arranged. The Dragoons had disappeared for the past three years and left the manor under the hands of the Porre military. Now, the Dragoons had mysteriously returned and the Porre military just as it had mysteriously left. Only yesterday, Karsh had been sent on foot to capture him alive from Cape Howl. Today, the manor looked as if it had emptied itself and became a huge net those would close in on the catch when his time was due. Still, he could not fathom such extents the Dragoons were willing to go to have a village boy in their hands, unless they had something far greater to gain. The thought of that gave him hope to press ahead, and hope that things were not as dark and gloomy as he wildly imagined.

They wondered about the vast reaches of the corridors, stumbled into empty, unlit rooms but found nothing of interest. Kid had seemed particularly interested in scouring the rooms, the glass shelves, the drawers and the cupboards. "Where the hell is it?" she would always mutter. Yet, each time, she never cast more than a glance at the shiny necklace of gold, pendants of silver and scarlet rubies, and the crowns ringed full with glittering diamonds; and each time before she left, she returned the rooms to their undisturbed conditions. He wondered what she was really after. And he wondered why her actions were unlike any thief he had heard of.

They eventually wound up at a gate, through which led across a bridge to the western tower. Kid opened the gate and they passed through it.

The two moons glared from the skies above like a pair of eyes that watched their every movement across the manor bridge. The lunar bodies emitted no halos and their edges were sharp and distinct. In the blackness of the void behind, the moons hung ominously like lanterns from a stick, only there were no sticks, and no strings attached. Stars shone steadily through the atmosphere that collected no clouds and no covers to diminish their lights. Night had fallen for several hours now, but the burning heat had defiantly refused to leave, as if it was loath to be like the sun, to disappear off the horizon, to be defeated by the darkness that reigned in the world.

Kid slid open the gate into the library and treaded carefully in. Serge and Leena followed close behind her.

Within the western tower was a library, a circular tower of books that took the shape of its circular exterior. The library was three stories high, with each level above first, accessible by flights of stairs. Each level had a concentric ledge and had enough room space for at most two to walk round. The only reading area had been designated to the first floor and was furnished with limited, but exquisitely designed tables and chairs. A large chandelier, attractively jeweled with finely-cut glass pieces that glittered in its own light, hung from the ceiling of the three storey library. The books were of dull brown and maroon that, together with the deep brown of the oak shelves, cast an ambient of an old era, as if one had returned to medieval times some four hundred years ago, to the dark warring ages. Even the smell of aging, yellowed pages tinged the air and tickled one's noses.

In the dimness behind the tables and chairs of elegance stood poorly hidden, a craft of sleek, futuristic make. Its curved body of sand brown reflected the shelves of books behind it, while a canopy of transparent amber shut the pilot's seat beneath.

"What's this?" said Kid as she examined the craft with keen interest.

"Who might that be?" said a slow, deliberate voice with a heavy accent from the second storey up at which the threesome looked in shock, for they had been spotted. 

Kid turned and hurried silently the team to the gate, but the voice said again, "Fear not, young ones. There's no need to hurry. I will not question your uninvited presence."

An old man tottered laboriously down the stairs with pile of books in his arms. He donned a robe and headdress of blue with gold trimming and of a scholarly fashion that seemed equally ancient, as was the mood of the library. His thick beard that grew to chest level was of silk white, as was the hair that fringed from under his headdress. Lines of wisdom had crawled over his pale, aged face but his eyes exuded the zeal of a hopeful, passionate youth.

When the old man descended to eye level, his gaze studied everyone intently until it fell on Serge, when his eyes lit up like that of a young child. 

"Oh my!" exclaimed the old man with delight. "Give me a moment, if you will."

The old man walked hastily over to the craft in the dimness, opened its canopy and dumped the books within. He then walked into light and walked up close to Serge. Serge stared at the old man curiously and wondered warily if he were about to throw them into prison cells. 

"Yes, yes!" said the old man, his gaze enthusiastic. "You must be Serge!"

From the moment Serge's world had changed, no one had recognized him and everyone had claimed the real Serge was dead ten years ago. This moment, this old man seemed to know him and even spoke his name, but he did not know if he should feel elated or disappointed, for those who knew him had all labeled him a ghost of the past. Yet, he felt a chill tingle in his spine as if he knew some thing of evil that had lurked in darkness for too long was about to come to light and stare him in the eyes.

"My, my, the texts were accurate: we really _do_ meet," said the old man delightfully as both his hands reached out to grip Serge's arms. "That means--"

The texts. What texts?

Serge retreated several steps awkwardly. He wondered what this old man was thinking, and wondered what he might have done to kindle this old man's affection. But Serge saw wisdom deep within the old man's eyes, and saw answers that this old man might be able to provide.

"Oi! Who the--"

Serge raised a hand to Kid as he swallowed. "L-Let me do the asking, please. How do you know my n-name, Sir? And, and who might you be?" asked Serge.

The old man laughed. "Please do not call me 'sir.'" 

The sage spoke the common language, but he did not speak with the formality of medieval or that of the royal, or of the crudity that Kid was accustomed, or that of the casual amongst friends. His accent was as unfamiliar as his dress was, as if it were not of this world.

"Some twelve thousand years ago, I was but a sage who was literally thrown out of his own kingdom, a kingdom now forgotten in this era."

"Twelve thousand years. How can that be?" asked Serge in disbelief.

The sage laughed again. "To keep that short, I've journeyed back and forth the river of time. But my identity is not important this moment. Just as much as my story of a lengthy explanation that must wait. Right now, you must be baffled by the events that are happening around you, so I want you to listen very carefully: The world is not just a single entity. Another world similar to ours exists in another universe."

"A universe?" Serge asked, still baffled. He glanced at Kid and Leena, only to find them equally lost.

"There you will find what you might have become, a world of possibilities that might have existed, a whole history that has not been written yet. It is out there somewhere. We are simply unable to see, feel, or experience it.

"Serge," the sage said.

"Yes," Serge said respectfully.

"This world is not the world you grew up in."

Serge shivered with a chill, as the cold gale of the sage's words blasted him in his face in the warm summer night. He found himself stagger one step back, as if the impact of his words were hard and real.

"Ten years ago, something happened that put your very soul teetering on the balancing scales of fate. With a fifty-fifty chance of life or death." 

"Ten years ago? Wasn't that when I almost drowned at Opassa Beach?"

"That is correct. That same time was when your future was split in twain."

"My future was split?" Serge asked, completely lost. A rush of thoughts flooded his mind and waves of chills seized his soul. 

"In your home world, you survived to live a happy and prosperous life. That is how you made it to the present point in time."

Serge eyes lit up. "Does that mean my world still exists? And everyone, including my mother, remains the same?"

"Yes," said the sage. "They still exist, but in a universe different from this."

Serge closed his eyes and heaved a long sigh of relief. He felt an invisible weight that had built up upon his shoulders ease so quickly that he almost cried. It all made sense now: the familiar faces, but unfamiliar reactions; the discarded traditions of Arni; his grave where it should be Leena's inscription; the disappearance of the Dragoons and their reappearance. All these were the contradictions of his experience that should not have existed in the same world. But never in his life would he alone have arrived at such conclusion that there was another world in which the opposite occurred.

He now knew his world still existed, his village remained as it was, and his mother still lived happily as she did the past ten years. To think he had insisted that it was the world that had changed, that it was a plot of hideous evil, that it was all the friends and villagers he knew who had upon them cast a terrible spell that had turned them against him. But never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that it was _him_ who stumbled into a world in which he had ceased to exist. 

Serge flashed Kid and Leena a smile he did not try to contain. He hoped to hear from them a congratulatory consolation, for things were not as bad as he had made them believe to be. Not only did he receive no reaction, they were completely stunned, just as he was when he first mistakenly assumed that the world had changed.

"However," continued the old man, "here in this 'alternate' world, you are, in fact, very dead and buried. You died ten years ago, but this world's time line has flowed on regardless. You have no place in this world. Here, you are but a ghost brought back from the past!"

The word 'ghost' no longer had effect on him, for he now knew he could roam around as a ghost in this world but walk upright as a living human in his own. It wasn't the past that had caught with him and erased the world of his existence but forgot to erase his mortal flesh and his living soul. It was the past that had continued to exist and carried on cold-heartedly without him, in world different from his own. But as Serge's thinking mind dove into the details, he began to realize the absurdity of the situation. 

"How could that be even possible?" Serge asked. "The worlds d-divided into two totally different futures, because I survived and died ten years ago, you say? How can the world" -- Serge gestured -- "split into two just like that?"

"They do, Serge, they do," the sage laughed. He turned his back to Serge, took a few paces forward and then turned to Serge. "The flow of time is like the branches of a large tree. As the tree grows like time flows, its long arms branch like time do. At points, the branches of time grow so close to each other, one could jump from one to another, like you did when you first crossed into this world.

"The locations where such weakened resistances in the time-space continua occur are called 'Angelus Errare' -- 'Where Even Angels Lose Their Way.'" The sage interlocked his fingers in illustration. "It is said that there, the weakened borders of two universes fluctuate in a way as to make the passage between the parallel worlds a possibility. Similar and yet totally different worlds, running side by side each other, running at the same time. 

"Perhaps, in this world, you are the missing piece from a giant puzzle. And maybe, just maybe, the vacuum created by your non-existence here has drawn you across the border between the universes to fill the void in that puzzle. Of course, no one can say for sure."

Time flowed like a river, but this was the first anyone said time branched like a tree. Serge could imagine how time could have split and divided, but he found it impossible to believe how time carried down its branches the soul of the same being in two different worlds. Yet, there was a Leena in this world who lived worlds apart from the other Leena in his home, and whose character was just as worlds apart from the other. Was the soul of Leena ten years older the same of her ten years before? Or was the soul of Leena two halves of a whole, each dedicated to one world? 

The more Serge pondered, the less he realized he knew. He found no solution to the puzzle that he was a part of, that the sage claimed he was a missing piece of. When he saw nothing of value should he insist probing, he decided to give up analyzing. Some things, he had learned, were never meant to be understood. Some things, he knew, were perhaps best left unexplained. 

"Does that mean that I can get home?" asked Serge a more important question.

"Yes, of course. These two worlds are connected by some force unknown. Depending on the location, the two worlds influence each other in ways strange. I am certain there is a wormhole, a dimensional distortion that connects the two parallel worlds."

"A dimensional distortion? Where can we find it?" 

"You will find the answer, Serge," the sage smiled. "You are a bright young man. It should not prove too elusive."

"If what you say is true," Kid interrupted impatiently, "and this world is an alternate reality, then why the bloody hell did Serge die? The reason has to be something that happened ten years ago!"

The sage turned to Kid. "The reason is long. The truth may hurt."

"Oi! Grandpa, you do know a lot, don't you?" Kid yelled furiously. "Why don't you stop beating around the bloody bush and tell us every damned thing?"

The sage smiled warmly at Kid and said, "Kid, is that not right? I thought you would be a little... different. But that is understandable, given the circumstances."

"How do you know my name? And what in the name of Hades are you now blabbering about, you old fruit cake? Serge, there's no bloody reason to trust--"

"Trust or not to trust. That has often been the question for you. If you trust me, Serge, then trust this. The reason for your death and survival ten years ago is part of the long story that needs no telling now. You will find out in due time. Besides, the texts do not foretell my revealing of all this very night, but they do speak of me telling you the following: 

"There's a bigger, and more powerful entity behind all of these that's happening, including my presence here. This entity lies in wait far beyond the dimensions of time and space. Waiting for an eternity. Waiting for the very right moment."

"And what the bloody hell is it waiting for?" Kid demanded.

"It's waiting for you. Serge," the sage said to Serge.

"Me?" Serge asked, startled.

"Yes, you, Serge. When you find your way home, you have a choice. You can take the easy way: ignore everything and live your life as if nothing had happened. Or you could go the hard way: find yourself, discover the true meaning of your existence and fight your way to this entity. That will up to you to decide."

"B-But what has this entity have to do with Serge?" Leena asked worriedly.

"Serge is bounded by fate, by a duty to all mankind. Just as every being has a role to fulfill in their lives, Serge is no exception. Only, what he decides from today charts the course of the future of his fellow humans."

Kid grunted in exasperated irritation.

"Is this entity a god of sorts, like those you get to read in legends and stories?" asked Leena. "You make it sound powerful."

The sage laughed again. "This entity is so powerful it would take sixty-five million years to defeat it. But I've never imagined it from your perspective. Yes, in a way, it is a god, but it's a god of darkness that knows only of consuming, devouring and destruction. It is a parasite, whose name you shall carry as a burden throughout your journey, Serge. A name that reads" -- the sage paused -- "Lavos."

Just as quickly as the burden of the first eased, a new one had come to take its place, like waves that washed up and down the beach, and then up again, never ceasing, never ending. 

The word 'Lavos' carried a tone that was heavy to the ears, and a weight of mammoth proportions that collapsed on Serge's heart and sent blood surging to his brain. A dark sense of omen lurked deep within those letters, those syllables, and every twist of the tongue and hiss between the teeth as the word was articulated. Serge shuddered at the bass rumble of the sage's ancient intonation. Serge felt as if the word called his name and beckoned his soul; he felt as if he wanted to vomit.

"Lavos?" Kid startled. "I've heard of this 'Lavos.'"

"But of course you have, Kid," said the sage. "Do relate what you have heard to Serge when the time is right."

"And just when will that be?" asked Kid irritably.

"When you flee this place in one piece, of course," the sage joked.

"Wait, wait, wait just a minute," yelled Kid, as if something just dawned on her. "Are you the bloke who disabled the lock at the doors below? You led us in here, didn't you? Look, we appreciate all these children stories and all, but we've got some serious work to finish."

"You should have realized by now that, like you, I am merely an uninvited visitor to this place. No one knows of my presence save the three of you. How, then, could I disable the lock of a place I know little of? The one who disabled the locks is a strong being that you will encounter up at the highest level of the manor. I believe he holds the key to your past, Serge. I believe he expects you."

"Strong being, my bloody foot," swore Kid. "Why don't you just get straight and tell us his bloody name?"

"Does he have anything to do with the Lavos you mention?" asked Serge.

The sage smiled. "He, too, carries the burden of Lavos, but in a different way. His agenda is your enemy. His goals are your downfalls."

Serge found himself sinking into the sea of the unknown and the depths of an inexplicable sense of responsibility. The sea of the unknown fogged his vision and he could see no further than his hand stretched from his body. He saw no predictable future, no solid ground to firmly plant his feet, and no end to the descent. He continued to sink but he did not struggle. He tried to breathe but he choked, and he choked hard, till liquid flowed from his nostrils and saliva spattered on the library floor. 

Kid helped him up by his arms, as the old man patted his back. Serge coughed incessantly till the lumped in his throat eased to a tickle that he tried to scratch away but could not. He took three deep breaths and composed himself and uttered, "I'll--I'll be fine."

"Oi! It'll be alright, mate!" Kid consoled as she supported him by his arm. "Take my advice. Don't listen to this bugger."

The sage offered a few more pats, until Serge stood upright. The sage studied Serge and nodded when he was satisfied. "Well, this is where we part, Serge. I have my tasks to fulfill, you have yours," said the sage. "You shall be fine, young man. This may be the beginning, but all things come to an end, be it good or bad," he said, as if he read Serge's mind. "I shall meet you again, in four, five years, when your journey finally comes to an end. Then, I shall share with you again those grandfather stories of mine."

"Five years? My journey takes that long?" Serge asked and coughed again. 

The sage laughed as he stroked his beard. "Time is but relative, Serge. Five long years for one may be no more than a fleeting dream for another."

The sage smiled and turned his back to the threesome. He walked to the craft, opened its canopy and hopped clumsily into it. 

"Oh yes," said the sage with a smile. "Please do not tell a soul that you've seen me here."

He buckled up, closed the canopy and began poking at its dashboard. The sage waved his hand and Serge found an obligation to return the wave.

As the craft hummed into life, a spherical bubble of distortion swiveled into view, shielding the craft within. The hum was soon drowned within the shield, as were all sounds that came from within. As the library fell into deafening silence, vision through the bubble rippled slowly as if it were the reflection of a pond on which water had dropped. A faint light of blue tore the spherical bubble through its center like sunlight that streamed into a room when the doors of double frames opened. The bubble that now burned of cobalt fire collapsed upon itself and disappeared into a few flakes of light, which quickly faded, too.

"What in the bloody hell is that?" blared Kid, as she ran over the empty space where the craft of the future once stood. "That freaking thing is gone!"

"Magic?" mumbled Leena, stunned. "_Real_ magic?"

"A kingdom forgotten in this era..." muttered Serge grimly. 

They party of three left the library tower, crossed the bridge and entered the manor's main building.

Serge said nothing, for he could find none to. He saw with his own eyes the sage vanish with his craft into thin air. He understood that no magic of the Elements could have been capable of performing such acts of disappearing just as none of the same could have erased the memories of people and transformed an entire world. The sage had claimed he was from an age of twelve thousand years past, from a kingdom that was not as much as forgotten as it was remembered, but remembered only as a baseless legend. 

The ancient kingdom of Zeal. 

Unless man had harvested the powers of the earth to redirect the flow of history at the blink of an eye or the flash of a bolt, he found no reason why the sage could have journeyed from a distant past into the current time. If indeed man had harvested such tremendous powers in the past, then man today must be conveniently journeying from one time period to another. Then again, man was said to have harvested real magic in that same distant twelve thousand years past, but had lost all wisdom it by this era.

Yet, Serge found an urge to believe the sage, as if he so desired to believe in something, _anything_, that shed light on his miserable plight. The sage had offered the answer that best fitted the puzzle, even if the answer had brought about implications of the impossible. No one had offered Serge a better answer than the sage, for no one could dream beyond their wildest of dreams the bizarre possibility of parallel universes between which one could breach their boundaries and cross. But the sage's words of ancient accent troubled Serge deeply. The sage spoke with the same tongue but the words he uttered were as good as if he spoke with another. Missing piece; Angelus Errare; dimensional distortions; Lavos; god of darkness; all of which were cryptic glyphs of ill-boding, coded beyond Serge's understanding. 

The light shed on his plight was but a hopeless glitter lost in the vast darkness, like a candle flame that tried to burn in the vast ocean. Serge groped in darkness as he searched for a way forward, but he found himself going round in circles. He lost all orientation and was lost like an infant, like he did when he first stumbled into this world. He felt worse than a blind man who at least knew to use his ears as his eyes; Serge felt as if he had lost all sense of sight, hearing and smell. He did not know what to expect next, and did not know what the Goddess of Fate had planned for him in this strange chapter of his life. 

As if the troubles in his mind weren't enough, he was now expected by a strong being whom he knew little of.

Leena appeared gloomy and upset, as if the revelation had affected her just as much as it did Serge. She kept her head low as much as she could, and refused to look anywhere else unless necessary. If her eyes met Serge's by accident, they shifted away quickly, as if they dared not look into his. But when her eyes did meet Serge's straight, they gleamed against the pale vanilla of the walls, as if they watered with tears.

Kid seemed disturbed, for she wore a face of a look grim, and her eyes that were always sharp were now distant, unfocused and hasty. But her feelings did not seem to dull her thieving nature. She still looked behind paintings, under the carpets, and into the helmets of the armors of knights that stood against the walls, along the corridors. She was swift and did not hold the team back. But she remained silent, as those nimble footsteps of hers were.

When the three finished combing the second level unhampered, they climbed a flight of stairs to the third level, where a throne room spanned the level. A wide carpet of royal red led from the stairs up the aisle, and up onto the ground where the throne of gold and painstaking craftsmanship sat. Symbols of snakes were the throne's arms and more that of dragons formed the throne's back. More chandeliers hung from the ceilings that had been crafted into fan vaults like that of the churches. 

A lady of strange dressing was walking towards them as they entered the throne room proper. She was a harlequin of petite build, dressed in a fancy motley costume. She topped a characteristic headdress of two oversized stocking caps sewn into one. One bell hung from each of the two ends of her top and, together, they jingled soothingly in the haunting silence. The headdress covered her head whole, save her face that looked through. Where people had earrings as ornaments, she had two pompons of soft, cotton white that hung near her ear. A thin, translucent silk of pale-blue fell loosely around her slender legs playfully and exposed each inch of flesh beneath. Her cheery sway to every step and her bright smile in the gloomy night took the gloomy party of three by surprise.

"Huh?" Kid exclaimed, breaking her episode of silence. "Who the...?"

The harlequin stopped in her steps and sized up the group.

"Is this the stronger being the sage mentioned?" Serge asked as Leena raised her fists.

"What?" Kid yelled. "This loonyhere?"

The harlequin studied Serge intently and ignored Kid's regards. "You are Serge?" she said playfully with a high pitch and a heavy accent that, again, seemed unheard of. "You are even sexier than I thought! Ooh-la-la!"

"And who the bloody hell are you?" Kid demanded, her voice booming across the huge throne hall.

"And this vulgar one must be Kid," the harlequin said. "You disgust me!"

"What did you say?" Kid yelled.

"I am Harle," the harlequin introduced, as she took a step back and gracefully curtsied. "I am the right-hand harlequin to Monsieur Lynx."

Lynx? The name drifted to Serge's ears and registered nothing in his confused mind.

"Serge, if you lie down with a dog like this girl," Harle said as she turned to look at Kid. "You will surely catch fleas, no? I think you can do much better if you gave her up! Actually, I suggest you all turn back. You should not defy him."

"Please, Serge," Harle insisted lovingly, "I would hate to see anything sad happen to you."

"I've had it up to here with you!" Kid roared, fuming mad.

"You _shut up_!" Harle turned to Kid and retorted. "I am having a _serious_ conversation with Serge! Why don't you mind your own business!"

"That's it! Put up your dukes!" Kid challenged, her dagger drawn. "I'm going to kick your arse so hard, you'll kiss the moons!"

"You are the one who is going to have her derriere kicked! No?" 

"You!"

"But alas!" Harle said regretfully and cheekily. "I cannot be caught fighting you here. Imagine the trouble I would get into!" She walked past them, her brows furrowed in cheeky sadness. Before she left, she turned back to face Serge. "Goodbye, Serge!" she waved, then blew a kiss at Serge. "See you again! And Serge, please dream of me! Yes?" 

The mysterious jester swayed flamboyantly away.

"Sheeze! Just what is _her _problem?" Kid said as she flung an arm in disgust.

The last level of the manor reduced to a corridor. Indirect lights colored the ceiling a gradient of gentle warmth, which exuded an ambient less grand, and much cozier than the chandelier lightings of the lower levels. The walls of beige were lined with fragrant plants that grew from arching alcoves of fine white. At one end of the corridor, three doors of lavish gold-crafted frames and fine timbre make shut eyes from the rooms of the highest level of royalty. At the other end of the corridor led to what appeared to be a roofless balcony outside the manor, from which the stars of the night sky could be vaguely made out.

"Wait here, and don't come close to me!" Kid whispered to Serge and Leena.

They nodded.

Kid chose a door, went up to it and scrutinized every grain of it before she fiddled with the door knob. She turned the knob carefully and pushed the door. She let the door open wide fully, before she stepped into the chamber carefully and inspected every corner of the door frame, every seam of the chamber walls and every inch of its ceiling. Then, she waved Serge and Leena over.

The lights had been turned off in the royal chamber long and spacious to live a platoon of twenty. The moonlight of pale pink poured through the windows from the right of the chamber, casting shadows of the decorated windows upon the soft carpet floor. Shelves of books and decorative crystals stood against the walls, while a collection of ancient weapons of axes and swords adorned them. At the far end of the chamber, a artifact of mystic blue emanated and pulsated gently a faint glow that drained the colors from the royal furniture and painted the dim walls a ghostly monochromatic gradient of blue to black.

"Oi! Could this be...?" Kid muttered, thrilled by the sight of the blue glow as she darted to the end of the chamber.

Serge and Leena jogged over.

An artifact that rested on a cushion on the chamber desk was that of a pale white shell, shaped into a flame and wrapped lovingly around a crystal orb of amethyst blue. The orb the size of a palm stole through the top and the side of the shell, revealing a surface smooth and flawless. An intricate network of lines embedded within the crystal orb formed layer above layer, intersections after intersections of honeycombs from which the glow of ghostly blue pulsed. The artifact was surely of a design arcane, that it seemed not to have been crafted by hands of a human.

"Nah," concluded Kid disappointedly. "It ain't the Frozen Flame!" 

Serge looked at Leena and she looked back at him. 

"Frozen Flame?" Serge asked Kid, stunned. "_You_ are after the Frozen Flame? That Frozen Flame? The legendary treasure? The treasure of--" Serge paused when he realized he was getting worked up. "That's what you're here for?"

"Well, yes," Kid replied, as she scanned the room, "This scrap does look like a flame, but it sure ain't the flame I'm looking for. Don't see any other booty here, either. I guess I better ask the general directly then."

The lights turned on and caught the three by surprise. The glow of blue was drowned by the warm white that fell upon the walls, the desk and red carpet floor. Wood rubbed the floor and squeaked sickeningly, as one of the bookshelves set against a wall slowly slid opened. The open shelve revealed a dim passage from which a man walked out.

Serge was startled. So was Leena, for this must surely mean they were caught.

"What is it you want to ask me?" the man asked with a low, fatherly voice.

His hefty build and facial features were instantly recognizable, for the gallant statue of bronze in the town square of Termina bore the same build and features. General Viper donned a military coat of somber brown with intermittent streaks of white across the chest. He buckled a leather belt that strangled his coat at his waist. He exhaled heavily, as if the uniform that looked dreadfully small for his size hindered his breathing. He looked a man in his late fifties with a shiny scalp and trimmed beard and eyebrows of aging white. His troubled eyes seemed to be of distant gazes, lost and confused, as if he were in trance. His cheeks were rugged and sagging, his wrinkles dark and deep, as if they were signs left not by age, by a life full of turmoil.

"My compliments on getting past my security," said General Viper composedly. His voice was deep and spoke volumes of experience. "Now, may I ask you, who in heaven's name are you?"

Serge felt heat pour into him, filling up to his neck and then to his face. He felt the guilt of crime constrict his chest, as if the ropes of restrain had already been tied around him. He felt the guilt of crime strangle his neck, as if he already hung from the ropes of execution. He wished to bolt for the door, and wished for everyone to flee with him. But he found his foot rooted to the ground, his legs wobbling nervously. His only consolation came from Kid, who stood fast, and remained in control. But whether she was in control of the situation, or in control of only her emotions, he couldn't tell.

"So you're General Viper?" Kid demanded with a finger pointing. "Don't feign ignorance on me now! Why did you send your Dragoons to get me mate Serge here?"

"Serge? My Dragoons?" the General asked as he cast a glance at Serge. "I'm afraid, my dear, I haven't the foggiest idea what you are talking about."

"General, I believe these vermin are here to see me," said a cold voice from the passage.

Another man emerged from the darkness of the passage and walked into the light of the room. This man was not one, for he sprouted the head of a feline like that of a golden-black-furred panther. He was a demi-human, a sub- and often deficient breed of humans who took the partial form of man, partial form of animal. His hands that were long were unsightly paws through which razor-sharp claws pierced. He wore a freezing look of no expressions, as if his face were frozen in its own cold. His eyes of baleful stares were equally callous, calculating, sharp and piercing as his claws were, as if it pierced into one's mind and read its contents. He wore a uniform of dark, hideous blue that did not belong to the Acacia Dragoons, and he wore a stiff robe that draped behind him and flowed as he treaded. 

"So you made it, Serge," said the feline demi-human. "And you've saved me the trouble of looking for you."

Sharp fangs gleamed behind his furry mouth when he spoke, the sight of which made Serge cringe. 

Having lived under the shelter of home, the panther attack that poisoned Serge fourteen years ago had slowly, but surely slipped from his memory. The initial fear for little cats that followed after the bite had long receded. He had learnt to feed them, toy with them and even cuddle them in his arms without his heart pounding at his ears. He had learnt that the members of the little cat family, as greedy and selfish as they were, were irresistibly cute. He still feared of the larger cats that bit, poisoned and devoured. But he was not fearful because of his dreadful past; he only was fearful because he was human like any other.

Yet, this half-man, half-cat that was no whole of either species struck terror more than a whole man or a whole cat ever had. The terror pumped from his heart into his veins, spread to his quivering limbs and burned them like venomous poison did. That same terror found its way into his head and stirred torrents of panic within as if they tried to flush the clogged memories of the forgotten past and flush them into sight.

Serge shook his head to shake off the terror that raped his mind.

The demi-human stared at Serge, and stared through him.

"Lynx!" roared Kid, her eyebrows crossed in bitter anger, revealing no hint of fear.

Lynx.

The torrents of panic ceased, like a storm that had come and quickly gone. Serge's mind had been momentarily freed, but his shoulders stiffened in tension as he recalled the sage's grim advice. 

A strong being that carried the burden of Lavos, the god of darkness, the bringer of destruction.

"Oh!" Kid grunted in derision. "This? Is _the_ strong being?"

"Are you...?" said Lynx. 

"What's the matter?" Kid scorned. "Cat got your tongue? I've finally caught you by the tail now, Lynx! I've come for two things: the Frozen Flame and your life, you murderer!"

"You must be Kid then," said Lynx, his gaze constantly fixed on Serge. "A member of the 'fearsome' band of thieves known as the Radical Dreamers, correct?"

Serge dropped his jaws. More knowledge crashed down upon his mind and stirred up one too many details that clouded his logic, like rocks crashed down upon the ground and stirred up a mist of sand and dust that clouded one's sight. Lost in the confusions that built upon the previous, he cast a glance at Kid. He tried in his mind to compose his thoughts and compose a sentence, but he composed only strings of incoherent mess. He tried through his lips to express his shock and express a word but he found none to appropriately describe his convoluted feelings.

"Radical Dreamers? This young lady?" Even General Viper seemed surprised.

"Precisely. Do not let her innocence fool you, General," Lynx said. "She is quite ferocious."

"Hah! Ferocious?" Kid spitted in disgust. "My arse! After what you've done!"

"I hate to disappoint you," Lynx said. "But the Frozen Flame is not here. That fire lies hidden in the Sea of Eden, the place where past and future collide."

While Serge remained lost amidst the sea of discoveries, he vaguely saw Lynx disappear from his eyes, only to reappear again. He imagined for a moment his eyes played tricks on him, but he had a feeling he saw it for real more magic of the arcane.

Kid had searched the lands for its clues and followed its trails, from continent to continent, from nation to nation and finally from the mainland to the southwestern archipelago of El Nido. Rumors on the streets, stories trustworthy and not, all spoke of Viper Manor to where the Frozen Flame had traveled, and of General Viper, into whose hands the Frozen Flame had landed. She knew enough of the reliability of the information, just as she knew enough of the elusive treasure that many had tried to seek but failed. The Frozen Flame was for real, not mythical legends of the ages past spoken under the stupor of ale, not bedtime stories that lulled children to sleep in the night. The Frozen Flame was the treasure that she could wish unto to fulfill her dream, a dream that was to recover all that she had lost. This night, the Frozen Flame was her goal, a goal that she, like many others, failed to find. Instead, she found the beast who took all that was precious away from her. 

Kid drew her dagger eagerly and spread her feet on the ground. "It looks like I'll have to put that part off until later. In the meantime, I'll settle my score with you, Lynx! Prepare to meet your maker!"

Kid could not suppress her vengeance. The sight of the feline beast boiled her blood and exploded fire in her eyes. Her fists clenched till her nails dug in her flesh. She quivered with anticipation and licked her lips with a thirst for revenge. She desired to dig steel into this beast's heart and wrench it out beating. She desired to gouge his eyes and his brain parts and crush them with her might as he had crushed her life five years ago. Most of all, she most desired him dead.

Roaring the cry of war, Kid bolted for Lynx and thrust her dagger towards his chest. Lynx side-stepped to avoid and pushed Kid effortlessly to the right. She tumbled to the ground, but rolled quickly upright. She lunged at the thief who stole families and took lives. She aimed for Lynx's neck but had her own caught in his paws. Lynx strangled Kid and hauled her up by her neck, like he did to her the first time they met five years ago. Kid swept her dagger aimlessly before her as she groaned in pain, but she swept at nothing. She saw an expressionless gloat in his face and felt his paws tightened, as he tried to crush her neck. Channeling her might through a restrained roar, she gripped Lynx's wrist, flung both legs over his stretched arm and threw herself over. The forceful torque snapped the arm of Lynx, who cried out in painful agony as he gripped his broken limb.

Serge joined the fray and swiped his swallow at Lynx's chest. Lynx retreated to avoid but was hindered by the desk behind him. The swallow sliced through Lynx's coat and tore it open to reveal a chest of animal fur and a large wound from which blood began to ooze. Lynx howled as he struggled to retrieve an Element bead and spelled the healing powers of the holy White. A faint shield faded into view and wrapped Lynx in a blanket of recovery. 

Leena took no chances. She darted to Lynx and flung a fist up into Lynx's chin, breaking his concentration, knocking him back and an Element bead off his fingers. 

Lynx shrieked in agony, much to Kid's delight. She gripped her dagger and dashed swiftly to his side. She lifted the dagger to a height and with both hands plunged it down towards Lynx's chest. The dagger pierced through the wound and snapped his ribs with a crack that was music soothing to Kid's ears. His feline face contorted into an expression of excruciating pain, at which Kid grinned in pleasure. She forced with her might the dagger into Lynx's blood-soaked chest and forced Lynx into breathless grunts. His eyes rolled and his breathing wheezed.

"This was easy," Kid thought to herself, as she yanked her bloodied dagger out of Lynx's chest. "Too easy."

So thought Serge as Lynx fidgeted for a while before he rolled off the desk and fell flat onto the ground, completely motionless. This strong being was said to a carry the burden of the god of darkness. But this strong being had fallen, much too easily for Serge's comfort. Serge remained alert and kept his blood-stained swallow ready for surprises. 

The shape of Lynx shifted into a motionless shadow of a ghostly cat, tall as a human, but skinny as a little cat. Its shadow took no physical form but an intangible volume of translucent black, and it wore no eyes through which it looked. The shadow of black collapsed into a puddle like butter that melted in heat. Black mists smoked from the puddle as the liquefied remains evaporated into nothingness.

"What in the bloody hell is that?" Kid yelled. "A freaking shadow?"

The real Lynx reappeared behind the desk, standing behind the blue crystal orb. 

"Did you think I would be silly enough to pick a fight with a rabid dog?" said Lynx calmly. "Why, just a shadow of mine is enough to deal with the likes of you!"

"You!" Kid roared angrily.

"Now, Serge," Lynx said as he fixed on eyes on Serge once more.

"What is that you want from me?" Serge asked as he found his eyes arrested by Lynx's gaze.

"What do you desire from this world?" said Lynx.

"Serge, don't listen to him!" Kid reminded.

Lynx's lips curled slightly into a smile that was almost invisible. "Do you wish to live again?"

Serge inched backwards. He tried again to wrench his gaze away, but he found them held fast and held imprisoned within the depthless slits of Lynx's feline pupils. He was lost for words and lost for thoughts, as if his mind were being ransacked, invaded by Lynx's cold, terrifying glare. His head spun wildly and saw his vision collapse into a tunnel of fuzzy light, as if he fell into a dark well and saw its opening into the skies above shrink and fog.

"Do you want to erase your demise from the pages of history?" Lynx continued.

"Get off it, Lynx!" Kid yelled. Then she turned to Serge and warned, "Serge, this guy's full of nonsense!"

Serge stopped his retreat when the orb of arcane design began to attract his attention. In the distant end of the tunnel, he saw only its glow of blue more brilliant, and its pulse quicker than it was earlier. Possessed by some unknown will, he found his legs carrying his body towards, as if he were beckoned by the orb of blue. 

"What's wrong, Serge?" Kid shouted. "Oi!"

"Serge?" asked Leena worriedly. "Are you all right?"

He staggered to the chamber desk and heard the words of concern of his friends echo faintly in his ears. He peered into the blue orb that soon enveloped his field of vision, as if the orb fell into the same well as he did and fell onto his face. He saw nothing else, except his own reflection in the crystal. The voices of concern of his friends that had become softer gradually faded below audibility. He heard nothing but his own arduous breathing and terrified heartbeats. 

As the network of honeycombs pulsated within the crystal orb, Serge saw his own reflection shifted into that of Lynx's. Startled at the sight of the fearsome face, Serge gave a strangled gasped that should have choked but did not. The reflection stared at Serge with eyes that were as cold and baleful as the real Lynx's, and made even more by the glow of amethyst blue. 

Lynx's reflection faded, and a wave of relief washed over Serge. He heaved a sigh as the vision in his eyes rippled into a bird's eye view of small isles on the sea on a fair, sunny day. Isles of three that each spanned a quarter of a mile wide formed the corners of an unseen triangle. At the center of the triangular alignment was a larger isle, atop of which stood an installation of concrete buildings. The sound of an explosion rocked the isles and sent birds flocking into the skies. A dome of voided black erupted from the concrete installation and engulfed it whole. It sphere of darkness that ballooned and devoured everything its path devoured the sea, the isles, the birds and all hints of light. As the sphere approached Serge, he saw on its surface a fierce vortex of black wind and he heard from within howls of unearthly agony, as if they were the shrieking howls of the shadows of souls in the millions, trapped within a spinning hurricane.

When the sphere consumed him, Serge felt as if his nerves snapped.

Kid hurried to Serge and gripped him by his arm when he appeared to be falling backwards. He looked utterly disarrayed, his face a ghostly pallor.

"Serge? What's wrong?" Leena asked.

"Oi! Serge! You're okay?" Kid asked and slapped his face. Serge woke from a trance, blinked his eyes and glanced at Kid, then at Lynx.

"Listen to me," Lynx continued as he walked around the desk and approached Serge. "The end of the human world is nigh. When this time comes, Serge, you will be the world's worst enemy, just as the world will be yours. This is not speculation or prediction. This is history."

Serge shook his head and retreated towards the door with Kid's support. Leena followed.

"W-What are you t-talking about?" he mumbled.

Four shadow cats took form in the room; two stood at the door, and the other two cornered the party. Serge, Kid and Leena retreated to the center of the room, back to back, beating the same anxious heart, breathing the same anxious air. 

Like the one they had exorcised, these shadows took on an intangible volume of faint black, through which the walls of the room could be seen. Unlike the one they had exorcised, these wore fiery eyes of amber within their formless shape, eyes that were as alive and baleful as their master's.

Six against three, including Lynx and General Viper, meant that the intruders were clearly outnumbered. It was time to call it a day, to make the run and flee for safety. But they were cornered and trapped by the shadows of a master who seemed capable of conjuring more if he pleased. Yet, Lynx summoned only four, as if he looked down on the intruders, as if he saw through their inability to fight and insulted them with small numbers.

Kid was irate and sickened by the derisive tactic that was as good as if Lynx himself had spoken of their incompetence. But she was aware that with her teammates' inexperience. She knew that the three of them combined could not take out three mere shadows, let alone all six of their adversaries, two whom were experienced fighters. 

Tomorrow seemed too far away, for they might be thrown into the cells this night and might never see the light of day again. If things took a turn for the worse, this night might be the last they stood upright.

"Freak!" Kid swore as her eyes darted about warily. "This doesn't look good."

"You cannot escape," Lynx said, staring at Serge. "There is something I want to ask you."

As Kid examined the board and the pieces, and pondered her options, a young lady of refined nature walked into the room and caught everyone's attention. She was reading intently a leaflet of cruise liner's advertisement, and seemed completely unaware of the tension that was building up to flashpoint.

"Daddy!" said Lady Riddel gently. "About that voyage I've been planning--" 

Lady Riddel looked up from the leaflet. Her fair maiden face broke into a startle, as she raised her hand to her mouth and gave a gasp that was just as gentle as her every movement. Kid left her formation and bolted swiftly to the Lady's back. Kid seized the Lady's right hand and drew the dagger to her neck. Riddel gasped again as she lifted her head and stiffened her neck to avoid the dagger's poking tip.

"Don't move a whisker if you want this girl to live!" Kid ordered.

"Goodness gracious! Who are you?" Riddel asked with a voice that sounded calm even under pressing circumstances.

"My darling Riddel!" General Viper cried, as he reached his hand out and moved towards Kid. Kid leaned the dagger's edge at the Lady's neck and effectively cast a freeze on the general at his feet. "Why you dirty!" he yelled angrily.

"I won't hurt you," Kid whispered to Lady Riddel without twitching a lip. "Just do as I say."

"Shut up, you old-timer!" Kid flared. "Our lives are at stake here! There ain't nothing dirty about saving your own life! You all right, Serge? Come on, let's bust out of here!"

Serge looked blankly at Kid and seemed hopelessly confused.

"Come on, Serge!" Kid screamed. "Cover my back!"

Serge nodded nervously and retreated back into the corridor. Leena followed and Kid left last, preciously holding Riddel who was their hostage and their prized possession. Kid had deftly positioned her pieces with Lady Riddel pinned between Kid and General Viper, like a queen pinned between an audacious rook and its helpless king. The dagger at Lady Riddel's neck was a threat that could turn the game around, if she so desired. But Kid was not about to kidnap and carry a sack more of responsibilities, or even hurt a fellow human being. Whether the three could escape the manor this night and walk unshackled into daylight tomorrow depended on Kid's polished skills of bluff; and whether General Viper bought the bluff.

"Don't be foolish!" General Viper warned. "Do you really think you can escape?"

"We're blocked in!" Leena reported fearfully.

Kid stole a glance behind her, at the stairs that was now sealed off by four armed Dragoons, one of whom was Karsh who had attempted to capture Serge last evening. Kid cursed under her breath at the expected trap.

"You fiend!" Karsh roared wildly. "Take your dirty hands off Lady Riddel!"

"Oh, okay!" Kid said sarcastically. "What do you take me for? An idiot?"

Karsh growled and raised his axe threateningly, but he could do only that much.

"Serge, this way," Kid said, as she tugged Lady Riddel to her steps and retreated to the other end of the corridor that was not sealed and led to the balcony. The army of dragoons, led by Lynx and General Viper, closed in on the intruders.

The roofless balcony at which they emerged was dim and as spacious as the royal chamber. Its marble flooring of jade green was lit by the pale moonlight and spotlights from the ground. The three backed up to the fenced edge of the balcony, an edge that overlooked the northern star-studded horizon, an edge off which would send them plunging down to the base of the cliff from where they started. If it were the sea they fell into, they might even survive the crashing impact, which meant they would be free. But if it were the rocks of the cliff on which they slammed, they would lose this game of chess along with all their lives with which they had betted.

"We have you now, you vermin," Lynx reminded thoughtfully. "There is no way out of here."

"Bloody hell!" Kid cursed, knowing that she had made a wrong move. She should have demanded a way down the stairs even if Karsh and his Dragoons had it sealed. She could have used Karsh, exploited his feelings and forced him into giving in with Lady Riddel at her mercy. She knew from the ferryman's account and sensed from Karsh's anxious concerns that he still carried the torch for Lady Riddel. But at the crucial moment when she treaded the fine line between freedom and punishment, when she still had the options to choose from, this fact had inopportunely slipped her mind. Such carelessness of her might prove to be fatal.

"Let us back down the corridor," Kid ordered. She understood that once this statement was spoken, it would either make or break their bid for survival.

"You are a clever lady," said General Viper with a triumphant smile, "but we aren't dimwits either."

The general had caught the bluff and he must know now that Kid would do nothing to harm Lady Riddel. With an experienced general at the helm of the enclosure, the fates of three were sealed, the game declared over. Kid found herself trapped at the edge of the board in a checkmate that was about to cost her and her innocent teammates their lives. 

"Let's work out a deal," General Viper said. "Release my daughter, and I shall let you walk away. How about it?"

"Yes, right! As if we can trust you?" Kid asked, buying time.

"Are you willing to jump to your death?" Lynx said.

Kid frowned in desperation. She stole a moment to look over the edge.

"Kid! Watch out!" Serge and Leena cried in unison. 

Kid sensed danger in the cries. She tossed her head back to see a dagger leaving Lynx's hand. Its glare from the reflecting moonlight flitted through the air towards Lady Riddel. Kid twisted Lady Riddel away just in time for the dagger to scrape Kid's arm. The wound seared as blood oozed steadily from it, as if the burning fire of a thousand suns licked at her skin. 

Kid released Lady Riddel and staggered to the edge of the balcony. She gripped the wound and cursed in agony, as her vision exploded into a kaleidoscope of colors and her head twirled violently. Her face, limbs, head and chest burned, as if fire from the wound had spread and consumed her whole. A flurry of confusion clouded her mind, just as a myriad of tones rang deafeningly in her ears, robbing her of rational thinking. As she gripped the balcony's fence for support, she heard faintly more cries of danger from her friends. She tried to blink off the flashes of light, but they intensified and blinded her completely. She only heard another dagger whiz by her ears, at which she reacted late with a clumsy back flip.

"Poison...," she muttered feebly, when she realized she flipped onto no ground on which she could stand. 

"Sis...," she voiced in her mind, as she felt as if her mind slowly departed from her body, as she plunged down into blissful peace.

_Wait for me._

"Kid!" shrieked Serge as he sprung to the fence and tried to grab her. But his hands caught thin air and his eyes saw her fall helplessly into the darkness. His heart tore and tears sprang as he watched her disappear from his sight, until he heard a soft splash in the distance below.

"What do you live for? What are you willing to die for?" uttered Lynx.

Serge turned to Lynx and stared the devil in his face, and stared through the devil's eyes as they stared through his earlier. He found no shudders that froze his thoughts, and no cuffs that arrested his gaze, as they did earlier. He only saw red that burned a desire in his heart, a desire to rip apart this despicable feline beast. He wanted to fight Lynx, the general and the entire army of dragoons. He wanted to shove them to their bottoms with his swallow and trample all over them. But he saw in his mind himself struggling miserably in their grasp as they boxed in on him, if he did what he wanted.

The three had broken into the manor, and had held a member of the ruling family hostage. Such were crimes of gravity that would lead them all into the gallows without doubt. But surrendering to the situation equated to surrendering to death, an action meant only for the insane, just as fighting for survival was meant only for the foolhardy. Only fleeing from all was for the intellectual who knew what it meant to live to fight another day. It was an insane gamble that must be taken with his life as the stakes, but if he did not, he was just as insane if he surrendered.

"I've been waiting for you, Serge," Lynx continued, as he inched towards Serge. "For a long, long time. Now come to me, Serge -- the Assassin of Time!"

A tear rolled down Serge's cheeks, as he pressed his back against the fence. His heart ached for Kid, and ached for his mother who might never see him again.

"Leena!" Serge called. She turned to him, blinked her eyes and wiped her cheeks that remained wet and shiny against the pale moonlights. Then, she nodded firmly, for she must know what he intended.

"You cannot run," reminded Lynx, expressionless. "You should not, because all these that have come to pass have been predestined. It is your fate; it is your calling. I know you would come into this world different from yours. I know you come here seeking answers. I--"

"Then, you must also know that I will rather jump and meet death than stay up here and wait for it!" Serge interrupted resentfully. 

Lynx raised his brows in startle as the first of any expression.

Serge lifted a leg over the fence and another, and leapt without further thoughts. Leena followed.

"No!" 

That voice of Lynx was the last of what Serge heard before the darkness claimed him.


	10. Book 2 Prologue

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**Book 2**

**Prologue**

Lynx stood by the window, gazing intently out into the midnight blue beyond. Heat that lingered from the day stung his skin and cooked it under his fur. But he stood in comforting darkness, his feline arms folded across his chest. The pale moonlight cast his shadow on the carpet floor of the royal office, a shadow that stretched hauntingly to the far wall opposite the room. His eyes were focused on a distant star that stared back at him, unwavering, without a blink. Both star and cat were defiant, deadlocked, unwilling to compromise. 

Lynx questioned the heavens. He questioned nature that promised that rains must fall from heaven to earth, that ashes must turn to ashes and that history must flow along an unchanging path without resistance. Today, he saw otherwise. The Assassin of Time had chosen a different course when he should have submitted. Lynx saw an unexpected determination in Serge's eyes, driven by the emotion of the heart. 

"At what point was history rewritten?" Lynx asked this question in his mind.

"When you flicked the dagger," replied a cold voice in his mind. "Had you been more patient, you could have taken him easily."

"I sense accusation," Lynx said bitterly.

"An accusation is little of what you deserve."

Lynx clenched his fists. "You say history is fixed, that fate predestines all, predicts all. But let us not forget that the Records of Fate are under your safekeeping. Not even I know of its true contents."

"Disbelieve all you wish. It remains a fact that your incompetence has altered the course of history. Not large enough to cause major repercussions, fortunately. I may still guide its flow back on course."

"Then, I want you to 'guide' him, to prevent setbacks."

"I do not take orders from you."

Lynx snorted. "Then, I shall manipulate him myself."

"You will not succeed," warned the voice sternly in his mind. "The flow of history dictates--"

"Today, I have learnt otherwise," Lynx scorned. "You have been misleading me all these years, but I understand it now. Serge and I have both been infused. His actions are extraneous to this universe and are therefore beyond the dictation of 'fate.' How otherwise could the Dead Sea have come about? If his actions can change the course of history, then so can mine."

"You have given in to temptation," the voice grew irate. "What is it that you now desire? Have you forgotten? You need only find out who disabled the access."

Lynx grunted derisively. "It seems you are the one who has forgotten. I have to thank Prometheus for this."

The door to the royal office opened, pouring into it light of warm white from the corridor outside. General Viper walked in and turned on the lights that instantly drowned in its overwhelming warm ambience Lynx's dark, cold shadow that cast against the far wall. The general greeted Lynx humbly with a fatherly smile. Even if it was marred with wrinkles of age and of fatigue, his smile exuded a brilliance of anticipation. The general regarded with curiosity a lone statue that sat atop his royal desk, a polished bronze statue of a lady dressed in primitive robes. Then, the general's eyes fell on Lynx, whose gaze remained fixed on that distant star.

"Haven't you gotten rid all of the Statues of Fate?" General Viper asked, his voice deep and respectful. "We shall leave none to the enemy, not even these statues, you said."

Lynx turned to the general. "Please accept my apologies," he said with a slight bow of his head before he returned his gaze to the star. "I have been careless. I meant to remove the last from your office, but I have been preoccupied with thoughts of matters that have just surfaced."

"It is I who must apologize," said General Viper promptly. "I must have interrupted you. Is it regarding the boy? I have never heard a word of mention from you about this young boy."

"This young boy is a key component of our plans."

"The Frozen Flame?"

Lynx turned to the general to meet him in the eye.

"I see," said General as he walked to his seat behind the desk and sank heavily into it. The red leather cushion hissed at the weight. "He is what you have been looking for all, waiting for all these years."

"It would seem that only you know me best," said Lynx.

The general laughed heartily at the comment. His laughter rocked the room and sounded like it echoed from afar, as if it had drifted out through the window and came back from the skies. The general indulged comfortably in his own laughs, for he treated Lynx as a comrade-in-arms, a true confidante. Lynx only smiled, for he found little strength within him to let laughter loose. The general exhausted his laughter quickly, and his cheeks slowly sagged into sadness. The general relaxed in his chair, heaved a long sigh and looked up into the ceiling.

"To tell you the truth, Lynx," said the general, his tone now serious. "I have some reservations about this operation. I have to trade the Dragoon's pride with Porre's downfall. I would rather fight to end the regime on the mainland, like a true knight would, than to cower in shelter, even if it is clearly impossible. Particularly, following the defeat of Guardia, Porre has grown too powerful. How ironical! To think that we've helped..."

General Viper stopped, as if he could not bear to continue his words. Lynx turned back to the skies, his gaze now caught by the moons of silver and red.

"You must remember, general, that power yields complacency," said Lynx. "Porre is driven by greed and is eager to redraw their boundaries. They can't resist ruling every inch of the world and taxing every person alive. They are now coming for the bait. They think that we have disappeared on an expedition for the Frozen Flame. They will come and deliver to us their armaments. When we have the Flame, we will take them out by surprise. We use their waters and their boats against them and launch a full-scale offensive on their mainland command. Their army will fall before they know what hit them. But until that glorious moment, general, I am afraid your Dragoons must bear with the ridicule."

"The Frozen Flame remains a legend in El Nido. Yet, I stake such huge a bet on its powers."

"You have my assurance, general, that the Frozen Flame exists in the Sea of Eden."

"Where the past and the future collide?" General Viper added.

"Yes."

"And this boy is the key to the Frozen Flame?"

"That is correct."

"Should we have him brought to us?"

Lynx shook his head. "Fret not, general, for he will come to us. He will hear of our whereabouts."

"It seems you have all these planned, Lynx. Forgive the ramblings and nagging questions from an old man. I shall leave the matter to you, for I still have my darling Riddel to worry about."

"She still will not come?"

"Is it true, Lynx, that your dagger was directed at Riddel?"

"Of course not, general," said Lynx. "I cannot bear to hurt her. Besides, I cannot take such risks. Imagine the consequences if I had succeeded. The Dragoons will turn their backs on us and all that we have done will be in vain!"

"That is how I have tried to explain to her. But she insists that I am making a huge mistake."

"She will understand your true intentions in time to come, general."

General Viper sighed. "But she may be right, Lynx. Perhaps this is all wrong. Perhaps we should not be doing this."

Lynx turned to the general to see him marvel at the bronze Statue of Fate with much respect. His hands pivoted its base and pivoted the statue one round after another. As it turned on its base, light reflected off the well-polished bronze statue gleamed as if fire burned from within the Goddess. 

"It would be best that you leave matters to me," said Lynx as he walked over to the general. Lynx snatched the statue from the desk in a sudden motion startled the general. "May I excuse myself? I still have the last of some matters to attend to."

"Very well," said the general slowly. His eyes that were distant and troubled appeared grateful for Lynx's role as an advisor and a meticulous assistant in administrative and logistical matters. The general had always been grateful for the past several years. "You may leave," the general said, as he lowered his head into his hand and rubbed his temples.

Lynx strode out of the royal office. He handled the Statue of Fate with none of the respect that should have been expected of an El Nidon. Lynx walked down the corridor and then through its arches into the open-space balcony that overlooked the northern seas of El Nido. A star-studded canopy encaged him, seizing his insignificant mortal casing and blanketing his sights within its vast expanse of the night. The relentless two moons were like the eyes of the heavens that glowered upon him with hatred and repulsion. But to Lynx, it was his eyes that captured the darkness and bound it within. And to Lynx, the fiery glare of the moons was as daunted as their wavy reflections on the imperfect marble flooring.

"I see what you are up to now," said the voice in his mind. "You remembered my words very well, do you not? I should have you disposed of long ago when I had the chance. It is regrettable, but this may be part of history itself."

Lynx tossed the statue over the edge of the balcony into the seas below.

"What I desire shall benefit both you and me. In time to come, you will be grateful."

Harle had found delight in hopping around in the guest room until she came before the full-length mirror and began admiring in it her own reflection. She had spent plenty of effort and coaxing to allow Lynx to leave the mirror behind in his discard-everything-else operation. Leave none to the enemy, so he ordered. By the time Lynx finally agreed to leave the mirror to her, her mouth had gone dry, her throat sore. After all these years of being his right-hand lady, how could Lynx, she wonder, have treated her in such a manner! But after all these years of being his right-hand lady, she understood how insensitive he was to the needs of anyone at all.

She saw within the mirror another world that was and duplicate of this, but a world that cannot be felt. She had always found this fact intriguing, and had termed the world within the mirror a 'dlrow,' a word she felt rang a sickening, squeaky treble in her eardrums. The fact that dlrow sounded like a black crow cast darkness into the world beyond the looking glass. But she found a relieving fact in this world of the dlrow, that in the dlrow, Harle would be Elrah. It bore the humble magnificence of the name of a divine God. The God of Elrah. The One Elrah. Elrah, the God of Light. Elrah, the Goddess of Darkness. The fact that she could imagine herself as one made her so proud that she sleep that next few nights floating. Metaphorically, of course.

Having seen eighteen years of age, the build of Elrah in the mirror was petite, as if she were instead several years younger. She had none of the womanly figure that was the object of desire of both immature men and women. She did have a pair of slim legs, though, screened behind translucent pale-blue silk wrapped loosely around them. But unlike Harle, Elrah was a zombie who had no will of her own, one who strived only to imitate the real person. Worst of all, Elrah had no emotions. But as a usual afterthought, Harle always wondered who the real Harle was.

Casting the philosophical inspirations to a side, Harle raised her arms and tiptoed, imitating the grace of a certain dancer that she had once seen perform in the mainland, when she wasn't occupied with running boring errands. Then, she lowered her arms and spread them wide to her sides as she watched the copy of herself in the mirror do the same. She leapt five feet into the air, flipped, and floated on magic down softly, safely to the marble floor. She grinned, pleased with her own astounding performance. She curtsied, as she imagined a crowd before her in standing ovation. She curtsied, twice, in two other directions. She pitied the copy in the mirror world, for she curtsied to no crowds at all.

The door opened and Lynx walked in, wearing an expression cast in cold-hard steel. His cold eyes gazed at Harle, before shifting to the mirror. Harle caught a slight twitch in his brows, a sight that no other person would have been observant enough to spot. Her suspicion was confirmed, that he was still bitter that she had outtalked him in the keep-the-mirror debate.

"Monsieur Lynx," Harle greeted with a bow. It had been customary for her to address him as "Monsieur," a term that she had found ticklish on the tongue when spoken. She had heard people of a different language in another continent speak this word, and had gladly imported the word for her own personal use. That it was sarcasm and an inappropriate title for Lynx was a reason good enough to attach it to his name. After a while, it became second nature to her. 

"What an honor it is," Harle acted shyly, "to have you to grace my humble room in this _unearthly _time of the night."

Lynx grunted. "I have a task for you."

"What else can I expect?" Harle tried to sound disappointed, and tried to look the same with her shoulders slumped. Then, she put on a fresh morning smile and flirted with Lynx. "But I would do _anything _for Monsieur Lynx," she said in a seductive tone.

"Cut the pretense," Lynx said, unimpressed. 

Harle raised an eyebrow. "You have me utterly confused. Who is the bold one acting in pretense?" she smiled. "Oh, tell me, Monsieur Lynx, and I shall have _him_ brought here and grilled. Do you fancy your meat rare or well-done?"

"Fortunately, your wit in strategy is nowhere half as sharp as your wit in talking."

"Unfortunately, your wit in anything is nowhere half as sharp as you imagine it to be."

"Have you now resorted to hurling insults to your superior, Harle?"

"Ah! My humblest apologies, Monsieur Lynx," Harle said with a bow. "I regret that tone. I shall take heed not to repeat that mistake, not until the day you cease to be my self-proclaimed superior."

"Do not over-estimate yourself," Lynx twitched the other brow.

Harle was ecstatic that she had once again beaten him hands down. She challenged Lynx's bitter stare, a stare at which many feared to even cast a glance. But she relished at the sight of his cold, piercing eyes that was to her a sign of crushing defeat. Yet, Lynx never once endeavored to shift his gaze away, until Harle decided that the little staring war was getting old and decided to back down. She had enough of her dose of fun already.

"So, what is that our Monsieur Lynx would like to have done?" she said. "Besides being grilled by Harle."

Lynx finally relented and turned his gaze away in an unspoken triumph that Harle found was unimpressive and pointless. "Serge will encounter difficulties getting to us once we are in," said Lynx, "so I want you to help him get to us. If possible, smoke the hermit out and lure him to us, too."

"Ooh-la-la! Monsieur Lynx entrusts me with the key?"

"You must be aware that the key alone is useless to you," said Lynx as he walked towards the door. "The system needs an expert to issue commands."

Just as he was about to step out into the corridor, he stopped. Harle sighed for she knew what was coming. Lynx always had a compulsive passion for ending a conversation in dramatic rhetoric.

"Know this, Harle," he said. "Once the Sacrament of the Souls is complete, no one--not even those bloated lizards--may stop me."

Lynx left, his footsteps echoing down the long, vacated hallway.


	11. Book 2 Chapter 1 The Astral Amulet

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**Book 2**

**1   The Astral Amulet**

Serge opened his eyes to a dark blue canvas shelter. The morning sun burned stubbornly through the canvas, and its ball of fiery red was clearly visible through the weaves of the canvas screen. But Serge's face shied away from the sunlight, for it was too glaring for his eyes that were still accustomed to the darkness of sleep. The morning air was baking hot, dry, and slightly unbearable to the nose. But the same air was tinted with the familiar smell of the sea and the sounds of its gentle waves that soothed him. 

For a moment, he imagined he had woken from a nightmare and had woken in his own room, but he realized he had woken in a room unfamiliar. The straw mattress that he lied on was soft, comfortable, and was laid over a sturdy, wooden bed. The blanket that covered him was furry, warm but stank with the foul odor of sweat. The roof and walls of the room were the dark blue canvases of a tent held up with wooden poles. Pots, pans and other cooking utensils tiled unkemptly under the sagging canvas wall, while urns, jugs and basins, half-filled with oily water littered a wooden floor.

Serge sat up on the bed to feel an ache splitting his head. He grimaced, slapped his forehead and massaged his temples to ease the pain. He took deep breaths and patiently waited for the painful moment pass him by.

He glanced at his surroundings, as he tried to recall events of last evening. Images of sneaking past the yard patrols of Viper Manor, images combing the rooms and levels of the manor rolled and replayed in his mind. The images that had been taken with a confused mind last evening were of a blur, and were incomplete, as if it were paintings of a half-hearted artist, paintings left unfinished. He could only vaguely recall the red carpets that stood out amongst the royal ornaments, for they were laid upon of the floors of almost every level of the manor. 

Yet, within the hazy recollections, he saw clearly Kid. He recalled how Kid deftly led them past the patrols undetected and her expertise in lock picking. He recalled how he was impressed by her dexterity, her swift and silent footsteps, and how she fearlessly confronted Lynx...

Serge jolted to his senses the instant he recalled how Kid fell over the balcony fence and plunged into the darkness below. His heart wrenched as it did last evening when he could only watch her fall but could do nothing to help.

Serge struggled hastily out of bed, only to end up tumbling to the floor, his head spinning wildly. 

A tan and plump lady who donned a cloth wrapped around her chest and a sarong from the waist down, walked in to help Serge up. 

"You're finally awake?" the lady asked with a voice warm and motherly.

"Have you seen Kid? The one with blonde hair?" Serge asked anxiously as soon as he got to his feet.

"Oh! Yes! Of course! Yes, if you are looking for them, they're both waiting outside."

Serge brushed past the lady anxiously, before he realized that he had forgotten his belongings. He turned around and grabbed his shoes and swallow and was about to leave the room, when he realized how rude he had been. 

Turning around, he said gratefully to the lady, "I... Thank you." 

"Oh, don't worry about it," the lady said, waving her hand dismissingly.

"But I thank you for saving us."

"It wasn't I who saved you. My boy did. You should consider yourself lucky to have survived the fall though from such a height though," said the lady, with another wave to wave him on. "Go on, hurry. Your friends are outside."

Serge hurried to the door and stumbled outside clumsily.

Forced off El Nido's central continent by the colonizing mainlanders a century ago, the demi-humans had built themselves a new home in this part of the archipelago they called Guldove. Set in the northwestern part of El Nido against a formation of inactive volcanoes, and with no shores to speak off, the village had built itself on stilts and wooden planks that sprawled the sea. "Streets" and "alleys" were nothing like paths of stones between houses in a town such as Termina; those same words applied to long stretches of paths of planks in a village such as this. Unlike their fellow demi-humans who now lived in the southeastern Marbule, the Guldovian demi-humans had left the past and bitterness behind them, and were content to share the whole archipelago peacefully with the new human settlers, even if they could not share the same land on which they walked.

The Guldovians were perhaps the last of any major race in El Nido whose beliefs were rooted in teachings of the Dragon Gods, the Divine Dragon Faith. Not even their friends in Marbule remained faithful to this religion. They were led by a village chief, who also doubled as the village shaman, often lending spiritual, psychological advice and sometimes spiritual healing to its people. Elemental magic was their form of spiritual healing, used for curing light ailments. With the advent of medical science and promising cures for more fatal diseases, the need for health care here gradually divided into the two complementary classes: the magic and the science.

Trade served an important part of the village's economy, as was the sale of local products to the passing tourists. Hand-crafted souvenirs and protective charms were in abundance and in good demand, for Guldove was often promoted for its affiliation to the divine Dragon Gods. Sale of Element beads were considered strictly taboo, though, for most of the Guldovians saw the usage of Elemental magic as depletion of a finite resource. (Elemental magic was said to summon and deplete the strength of the Dragon Gods, the same strength that was used to heal Guldovians.)

Serge found himself stumbling and crashing out into the Guldovian street. He could have fallen over the edge of the wooden street path head down into the clear seawater, if not for a wooden rail that his tummy smacked into. He disregarded the acute pain, for he had only one scene on replaying over and over in his mind, the scene that showed his hand stretching out into the darkness into which Kid had fallen. The scene stirred in his heart worry and an inexplicable fear that she might leave and he might never see her again. If misfortune should befall her, he would be as devastated as he would be stricken by guilt, guilt of being too slow to save her.

With an anxious heart, he turned his head and looked around the village, and looked for any sign that was Kid.

"Oi! Serge!" yelled a familiar voice.

Serge turned to the voice and smiled relief, as he asked himself why he could not see her stand at where he had looked.

"Good morning, Serge," Leena greeted with her fresh, morning voice.

"You finally awake?" asked Kid. "Give your thanks to Korcha. He's the one who saved us after we fell off the cliff."

Serge jogged noisily to Kid down the wooden street. He conveniently ignored Leena, and their savior of a familiar face. He pulled Kid's arm that was dressed in a white bandage for a detailed inspection. 

"A-Are you even alright?" Serge asked concernedly, as he examined worriedly but gently her bandaged wound. When he finished with that, he felt his hands to her rugged, blonde hair and then to down her soft, warm cheeks. He spun her at her shoulders and examined her from head down to toe, then up to head again. He wasn't certain what he intended to look for, but he was certain that he was elated to know she was well.

"Of course, I am!" Kid said as she spun to Serge, slapped his hands off her shoulders and slapped hard at his chest. "That little scratch ain't going to hurt me!"

Serge smiled silly.

"Serge, you are such an ingrate! You think _only _of Kid," said Leena, hands on her hips. "I've accompanied you throughout your journey, but you never utter a single word of concern for me! We may live in different worlds, but I still _am _your childhood friend, you know?"

It was this moment after Leena spoke that Serge became aware of her presence. His mind had been so preoccupied with the images of Kid falling off the balcony fence of Viper Manor that it had forgotten about all else. Leena's striking mismatch of red and blue dressing could not draw his eyes and mind as much as the concern for Kid's well-being seized them. Admittedly, he had almost forgotten that she was part of their team of three. 

Serge swallowed and scratched his head in embarrassment. 

"I am sorry, Leena," Serge apologized. "Are you all right?"

"Hee-hee. I was only teasing you! I am all right!" Leena said.

"Oi! I say again, give your thanks to Korcha," Kid introduced. "He was the one who saved us yesterday night."

"No sweat!" yelped the familiar face.

Serge's eyes fell upon a teenager of skinny built and tanned skin. The teenager had eyes that were shrewd, but extremely exhausted. They glittered in the morning sun, like gold and gold that glittered against light. His voice that was shrill was painfully deafening to the ears, as if it were capable of shattering the hardest of diamonds. As Serge's anxiousness for Kid's well-being receded, he realized why he found the Guldovian familiar.

"Thank you very much, Korcha, for saving us," Serge thanked gratefully the ferryman who had taxied them to Viper Manor last evening.

"It's just part of my job as a ferryman," Korcha yelped proudly with a pat on his chest.

"But how did you come back for us?" Serge asked. "How did you know?"

"Well, I was worried for her--I mean--_all_ of you, so I turned my boat around and waited for you," the ferryman explained helpfully. "I thought you guys might need a ride back, just in case. But, I have to admit, you caught me by surprise when you came falling from the sky. You're lucky that it was the sea that you fell into and not the rocks!"

"But geez, Serge, you're such a wuss!" Kid teased, as she put an arm over Serge's shoulder and breathed heat into Serge's cheeks. "How could you get knocked out from such a short fall?"

"Who are you calling a wuss?" Serge replied lightheartedly.

"You, of course!" Kid teased. "As for me, that... little scratch..." 

Kid gripped a wooden rail and nearly fell over it. Color drained from her face that had turned a white pallor. Serge held her by her bare waist to support her, only to feel her bare skin burning to his touch. Kid pushed Serge's arms away and stubbornly refused any help. She struggled to open her eyes, and once she did open them to reveal eyes of bloodshot red. But soon her eyelids closed wearily upon themselves and shut her behind unconsciousness. Kid's legs wobbled and gave way, and her whole weight sank into Serge's arms.

"Kid!" Serge cried. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong, Serge?" Leena asked worriedly.

"Can't... knock... me... down," were Kid's last feeble words.

Kid opened her eyes to darkness, a darkness that was as distant as the night of the sky, but blacker than the black of the woods on a clouded, moonless night. Yet, even in the encompassing darkness, she could see herself clearly, and her fingers even if she stretched them out furthest. An eerie silence that was wrapped within the darkness pressed against her ears, save for an occasional gust of chill that blew past her and set the hair on her arms standing on its ends. She lied in this cold, lonely place, if 'place' was even a word of an appropriate description. She lied on no ground she could feel, yet she stayed where she was without falling, as if she floated in the air.

The place was of a name unknown to Kid, but it had not of a feeling unfamiliar. She had been here many a times. She visited it only while she slept, so she had apathetically termed this place "dreamland." But the gloom here was undeserving of the beauty of such a word, as was the horrifying reality of this place that was undeserving of it being called a dream.

Kid sat up and rubbed her eyes. She wondered why it was this place again, and why she must dream of this. Each time she had been here, she had wanted to leave at the earliest opportunity. She detested this place and its memories of loneliness along with it brought. It reminded her how her life of quiet and the uneventful had been robbed from her by the one demi-human beast who called himself Lynx, who sought only to sow seeds of hatred and enmity. It reminded her how she struggled through five difficult years alone, and with the friends that turned into enemies. It stirred within her a desire to be showered with concern, with love and with the caring embrace of a soul mate, a desire that tore her frail heart and forced the tears from her eyes. She tried to wipe the tears that were signs of weakness, but she found them flowing endlessly, uncontrollably. She tried to slap herself awake, only to feel no pain strong enough to bring her back into the real world.

"_Kid._" A familiar voice of a lady spoke from the darkness, but Kid felt as if she spoke in her mind. She adored the warm, sweet voice, for it was the only break from the deathly silence in this no man's land, for it was a voice that soothed and lulled her aching and lonely heart. It had accompanied Kid whenever she was here. It had offered guidance through her life, even if it had sometimes spoke words of the nonsensical. It was the one voice she would listen to, even if she refused to believe the rest of the world talk about dreams and omens, ghosts and spirits.

"You?" Kid asked as she wiped the tears, relieved at the company.

"_Who am 'I?' Who are 'you?' They are but the same thing, from two different points of view._"

"You always say this," Kid sniffed. "But t-thank you... for being here."

"_Angelus Errare._"

"W-What are you talking about?"

"_The amulet._"

"This?" Kid asked pointing to her pouch that contained an amulet.

"_Give it to Serge. He will need it, as much as you need him._"

"But that is my favorite amulet," Kid protested politely. "Sis gave it to me."

"_Remember, Kid? Where Even Angels Lose Their Way._"

The voice faded into the distant darkness.

"Don't leave me! Come back!" Kid yelled. 

Kid got to her feet and ran around the empty space, searching aimlessly for the voice that never responded. Such was how the dream started and such was how it would always end--in painful solitude. Her heart wrenched, and tears started to flow again. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, as if she were shivering from cold of the loneliness; the cold of loneliness that had crept beneath her skin and into her chest, as if it desired to eat her heart out. 

Kid fell helplessly to her knees. 

"Let me out, please!" she pleaded as she sobbed. "I don't want to be here."

"Is she even alright?" Serge demanded as the village doctor finished his examinations. 

Serge realized he was rude, but he realized he could not contain the rising anxiety in his heart. He wanted answers, answers that were not of the negative, but answers that would tell him that he was overreacting and that Kid was doing fine. And he wanted them now.

"It seems the patient has been poisoned with Hydra Venom," the village doctor declared grimly. 

Serge's heart sank.

The village doctor turned slowly to Serge. He had cheeks that sagged from age and exhaustion looked as if they sagged from a disappointment, from an unspoken incompetence. His eyes that were as grim as his spoken tone foretold of an unneeded, unpleasant announcement. He looked at Serge with uncertainty, as if he waited for Serge's approval.

"Please speak your mind, doctor," Serge said as he braced himself mentally. 

"At most two days," the village doctor said slowly. "I would say she has at most two days to live."

Leena gasped.

"What?" shrilled the ferryman. He signed two fingers crudely at the village doctor, as if he were swearing. "Two days! Only two days! This must be a joke!"

"Are you certain?" asked Serge, shocked. Nothing could prepare him for the dreadful news that he heard. "How can you be so sure she has been poisoned, and not ill from exhaustion?"

"She shows all the signs of such poisoning," said the village doctor before he drew a deep, heavy breath. "The venom of the Hydra spreads to ones limbs and robs them of their strength. It spreads to ones hearts and lungs and robs them of their function and her ability to breathe. Color drains from one's skin as one's body shores up defense against the vicious enemy, but her temperature rises like the heat of the ground that burns in the sun. Her nails turn purplish-green and her eyes turn--"

"Stop it," said Serge, a hand raised.

The river of life from which had sprung so many surprises in the past two days had now swallowed Kid and swept her to the rapids where the raging torrents slammed against her and the violent waves tossed her about. As Serge and Leena stood at the banks and fought to struggle against the anxiety and the tears back, they watched helplessly the one who fought for her life.

Serge's eyelids shut not from exhaustion but from the devastation and the sudden knowledge of how little time that they had left. His heart wrenched because he knew she was suffering in mind and body from the malicious toxin. He could imagine her breathing the hot air that burned at her lips, as if it burned on his own. He could understand her loss of appetite, her loss of strength and her loss of her disposition to talk and laugh, as if he were the one who had fallen ill. Worst of all, he imagined torturing pain slowly chiseled into her bones and drove her mind to insanity, just as it slowly chiseled into his brittle heart and tried to shatter it.

Serge had stared Death in the face twice in his fourteen years of life, once when he was bitten by the panther demon and another when he nearly drowned. He had seen Death claim his fellow villagers when their age was due, when it was their time to depart this world and head to the next. Today, he saw Death once again, but not in the way he had expected, and not in a way he had wished. He had never _felt_ Death so close to taking a friend away, as if it were so close to taking a part of him away.

The images of last evening flooded his mind once more, as he blamed himself for not doing enough, for not being quick enough. Never mind if Kid was really poisoned by Lynx's despicable attack, Serge found an escape that distanced him from Death as long as he blamed himself. But as he wasted precious moments shifting responsibilities onto his own shoulders, the dark shadow of Death who stood between him and Kid grew and loomed ever so taller, ever so defiantly. Serge soon realized he could not shrug off Him who, time and again, refused to leave his own life alone. It was as if He now desired Serge to live, but live a life far worse than death.

Serge opened his eyes from which a tear flowed.

"Isn't there anything at all that we could do?" the ferryman shrilled.

"If we had some humor from the Hydra species, we would be able to neutralize the poison," the village doctor mumbled, his head lowered. "But that is impossible now. Hydras are extinct on El Nido."

"What do you mean extinct?" asked Leena worriedly.

"Hydras are very rare and valuable creatures that lived in the Hydra Marshes. The blood, bones, meat: every part is valuable. It's considered to be a panacea for various illnesses. As a result, a whole species has been made extinct, just to make a quick fortune."

"But!" struggled Leena, her arms flinging about in animated desperation. "Don't any of our towns sell the antidote?"

The village doctor shook his head grimly.

"How about the mainland?" Leena asked with a voice that quivered with grief. "I-If we could cross the sea to the mainland of Zenan, t-there might be a chance, am I not right?"

The doctor regarded Leena blankly. "That is not possible," he said, shaking his head. "The currents of El Nido are extremely dangerous this time of year. It is highly improbable to cross the sea unless you are on a large vessel. Even if you manage to get there, your chances of finding Hydra humor are bleak. We do not have much time."

Serge sniffed beneath his breath. Another tear rolled down his cheek.

"Serge," said Leena softly. But her words offered no consolation to ease the wrenching sadness in him.

Tense was the sudden silence that had settled over the room in the hot, stifling noon. The sounds of the gentle waves washing under the village of Guldove that should soothe even the most stressful of minds now carried an inexplicable sadness. Yet, the afternoon sun streamed mercilessly through the unflattering windows, as if it were bent on worsening Kid's deteriorating condition.

A metronome in the room ticked slowly away. Its soft rhythm was each a deafening clap that reverberated to every canvas wall of the room. The sands of time that had already begun to turn against them, now slipped slowly through one bulb into another like life that slipped slowly into death. And while everyone stood frozen and lost, Kid's breath surely slipped away with every beat of the heart.

The doctor regarded at Serge with a look of guilt and remorse. "I'm sorry," said the doctor. "You might like to accompany her until she leaves." He lowered his head and walked out of the room.

The die had been cast. That even the doctor had walked out on meant that the situation was hopeless. Serge could only stand and watch helplessly as the doctor insisted on walking out of the room, and on walking out on his patient. 

Leena walked to Serge and tugged his elbow with her cold, clammy hands. "Serge, what are we going to do? Kid is going to die if we leave her like this."

Serge found no words suitable for reply. He only found that the wooden floor had blurred and turned wavy through his watery eyes. 

Serge knew of her true identity as a member of the group of bandits who called themselves the Radical Dreamers, a group that had committed crimes too many they must now be most wanted felons. Yet, her true identity was no barrier between the both of them, even if he had stubbornly refused to admit it. He realized he had wasted too much time trying to suppress his feelings that he began to regret his foolishness. He longed for her voice that was boorish but healthy and forthright. He longed to see her attitude of the casual and nonchalant that was to him an attitude of composure and courage. And he longed to see her face and cheeks once again, and to let them rest upon his shoulders and his chest, if she so wished.

At this moment, Serge could not help feel the feeling of affection that called for his tears and the sense of responsibility that called for his action. Yet, there were only tears that could flow, and no action that could be taken, for there seemed no options other than the wait for the inevitable.

            "Hey, doctor!" the ferryman shrieked angrily. His shrill voice that tore the unnerving silence felt as if it tore Serge's ears. "Where are you going? Nothing's been resolved yet! I-Is this some kind of joke? Wait right here," the ferryman signed at Serge and Leena. "I'll go get the doctor back!"

            The ferryman stomped towards the door and then out of it. He thumped onto something and stumbled noisily back into the room.

            "Who the hell are you?" he yelped furiously.

A female jester hopped gleefully into room. Her petite build swayed to her every step that was gentle and almost silent. She hummed a gleeful tune and rocked her head to its rhythm. Her motley dressing of flamboyant splash of red and purple stood out in the room as brilliantly as the sun that streamed in through the windows, as brilliantly as the unfitting smile she wore on her face.

"What's this?" the jester said with a heavy accent but a cheeky tone. "No apologies for bumping into me? Ooh-la-la, don't you know any manners?"

"Harle?" asked Serge, who recognized the jester as the one who approached them in the throne room of Viper Manor last evening, the one who claimed to be the right-hand man to Lynx. "What do you think you are doing here?"

Harle walked up to Serge and bowed playfully before him. Then, Harle walked over to Kid, bent down to her, flicked her fringe and sneered. "She is down for the count, just as I thought," sang Harle without remorse.

Serge remained quiet and wiped another tear off his cheek. He was shocked and angered by the insensitive remarks, but his dulled mind found nothing appropriate to retort.

"Serge, my beloved, why don't we just leave her be?" asked Harle. She swayed her body and her eyes flirted with him.

Serge turned away and ignored this eccentric lady altogether.

"Who are you?" the ferryman demanded. "And what's with that strange costume?"

Harle turned to the ferryman and regarded him with an unimpressed stare. "I have no business with no chicken-hawk. I am having a conversation with Serge. You're bothering me, so keep your mouth shut."

"Why you!" the ferryman raged and rubbed his fist. 

Serge walked up to the ferryman and held him back by his shoulder. "No," said Serge sternly.

"Try if you dare!" Harle challenged, beckoning the ferryman arrogantly with her right hand. "I am not so weak as to be caught by a chicken-hawk!"

"You!"

Harle ignored the ferryman disdainfully and turned to Serge. "I came only to see how Kid was doing. That I've done, I shall take my leave." Harle blew at Serge a kiss with a loud smack of the lips. "Farewell, Serge, my beloved! Please do dream of me every night! Yes?"

Harle leapt into the air and vanished from sight. 

More magic of the arcane like Lynx's, Serge thought but quickly disregarded. She had, after all, claimed herself to be Lynx's right-hand harlequin. He was not certain of her real intentions, but he was certain that once she had departed, silence appropriate to the current tension would return.

The silence Serge hoped for did not return, however, for Korcha paced up and down the room with impatient stomps, under which the flimsy wood bent and creaked noisily. The ferryman scratched his head hard, flung his arms about and mumbled garbage to himself, as if he tried to conjure up a solution to the problem that had none. Leena sat awkwardly, quietly and inconspicuously on the wooden floor at a corner of the room, nursing her tears. She sniffed and sobbed and wiped with one arm after the other the flow of tears that seemed endless.

Serge turned away from Leena, for a look at her made him want to cry. He looked up into the canvas roof, as he wished for the tears to backflow into his eyes. The tears found their way down to his dry and sore throat and soothed them. But they did nothing to soothe the tension in his heart. And as he counted the passing of moments, Kid shifted about in her bed.

"Serge," Kid mumbled weakly, as she struggled to stretch a hand out to Serge.

Serge and Leena hurried to the bed. Serge bent down by her side. Kid struggled to peel her eyes open, but she could barely manage a half-opened pair from which green fluid flowed. Her bloodshot eyes looked wearily at Serge. Her face and skin were pallor that was as ghostly as it was frightening. Her laborious breathing was heat that burned at Serge's cheeks. Every sign of the poisoning was pain that ached inside of Serge. Every breath she took was to Serge a lonely struggle to which he could offer no strength or support. The tears choked in his eyes and his throat gathered a painful lump. He vividly recalled how his mother had suffered the same. He dreaded to think that the worse might befall unto Kid; the Kid who should be an expressive loudmouth but was now bedridden; the Kid who should be a lively lady but was now awaiting death.

Kid's reached her hand out. Serge seized with his both her hand, in which she held a little pouch.

"Serge," she struggled softly. Her voice that had been loud was now soft and gentle. "This is my favorite amulet, an Astral Amulet. And I want you to keep it."

"No! I'm not going to take this!" Serge yelled under his breath. The choked tears sprang and flowed down his cheeks. "_Nothing_ isgoing to happen to you! You are going to keep it safely by your side!"

Kid shook her head wearily with a forced smile. "Take it, Serge, take it. Don't worry about me, because I'll be back for it, you can be sure," she tried to smile. "This was given to me by Sis. Now, I don't want you losing it, you hear? I'm lending it to you only because you will need it. Don't ask me how I know, but I know that you will, that is, if you wish to help."

"Of course, I will help!"

Kid smiled with relief. "I know I can count on you. Remember what the prophet said, Serge? Where do angels lose their way? I know this amulet has something to do with these angels, but I don't know what it means. I can't think straight now, so you'd have to do some thinking yourself."

"Please save your breath," said Serge as he stroked her burning forehead. "You need plenty of rest."

"Try to... remember, Serge." her eyes began to close. "I'm feeling a bit tired... I'm going to rest up for a while..." 

When her eyelids fell and shut the windows to her soul, Serge's heart pounded furiously for he thought that she had left this world. Only the laborious rising and the falling of her chest offered him relief as much as they offered him hope. 

Their clasped hands parted, and Serge tucked hers under the blanket.

The pouch given to Serge was of soft velvet of dark, navy blue. Threads of gold silk embroidered on the pouch's surface a crest of intricate design, one that seemed to be of ancient origins. The Astral Amulet within was of a wooden make, light brown, shaped into an egg. Although its wooden surface grained patterns of darker brown, it was smooth and lacquered, like that of a pearl of fine cutting. The amulet radiated a magical sensation that was a tingle to Serge's fingers and that was warm to the touch, as if the amulet carried Kid's undying warmth within.

Indeed, her warmth was undying, her stand resolute. In the conversation, he saw an unflinching Kid, unwilling to give in to death. He saw that she counted on him, for she placed her life in his hand as she did the Astral Amulet, as if the amulet itself were her life. She must have instilled courage in his heart, for he found new strength to fight with her, to fight _for _her, and to give his own life, if necessary, so that she may overcome this hurdle. 

There was still time--two days--before the poison would set in and her soul would set off to another world. Worrying was futile. Crying did nothing either. Something _must _be done, and it must be done _now_.

Serge wiped that single drop of tear off his cheeks, and whispered softly into Kid's ears. 

"Leave it to me, Kid. Leave it to me."

"You heard what the doc said," the ferryman said, pacing up and down Kid's room. "There are no more Hydras in this world. On top of that, there's no way to get to the mainland, and El Nido isn't that small a place. Are you going to take a one-in-a-million chance to search for this thing? What are you going to do now?"

As the sounds of the gentle waves in the sea below rose to his ears, Serge engrossed himself in his own thoughts. He had no clues where to begin his hunt for the antidote that Nature no longer produced. He had the Astral Amulet in his hands, but he regarded it blankly, for he knew nothing of what it could do. Yet, he had a feeling that something deceptively simple lurked deep in his mind under his mounting anxiousness and the knowledge of their limited window of time. He dug into his mind, like he dug a hole into the ground, in search of the elusive solution, but he found more problems piled back upon themselves, like loose earth slipped back and covered the hole.

"I'll find a way to save her," Serge asserted firmly. The only question was how.

The ferryman nodded approvingly. "I can sail you around El Nido," the ferryman offered.

"I'm going with you, too," Leena sniffed. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks wet. The sobs had stopped, but the tears continued to trickle. "I want to go, too, Serge. I look upon her as my friend, even as my beloved sister. I will not watch her life slip away and not do anything."

Serge bit his lips and nodded at Leena and the ferryman. He was moved by their offers.

"By the way," said the ferryman to Serge. "Do you even have a clue where to start looking?"

"Where even angels lose their way," mused Serge.

"What?" the ferryman yelled. "What in the hell is that?"

This while, a young lady of a refined aura walked into the patient's room. Her cheeks that were fair and smooth looked as if they had weathered only twenty-odd years of age. She donned, trimmed with humble yellow linings, a modest red robe like that of a holy person. Even at a young age, her frugal life had stitched itself onto her robe, in the form of patches that covered torn holes. Her hands were tucked beneath her long sleeves. Her young eyes that sparkled in the afternoon sun were gentle and beautiful, but they exuded an unwavering spirit of righteousness. Those eyes swept gently through the patient room until they fell upon the ferryman, Korcha.

"Korcha," said the lady with a deep voice. "I hear someone has been wounded. I am here to offer my prayers to her."

"She's right here," the ferryman quickly gestured to the bed on which Kid rested. 

The lady's eyes that fell upon Kid fell sullen with sympathy.

Serge stood to his feet. "You are...?"

The lady turned to Serge and bowed. Serge respectfully returned the bow.

"You...?" said the lady with a slight startle. Then she composed herself. "Forgive me. I sense that you possess a young, gentle air about you, but there is an odd wind that whirls about. I have heard that such strange wind-bearers appear at time, but we shall leave this discussion to later. More importantly, now, I'm here to offer my prayers and my aid to this young lady. I'm shaman Steena and I'm here on the behalf of the village chief Direa. She is currently occupied with urgent affairs and cannot be here in person."

"Thank you for being here," said Serge. "But how did you--"

"Word travels fast in a small village such as ours." Shaman Steena smiled genteelly. "As village shamans, we will not watch a fellow living being suffer and do nothing. Although Elemental aid may not prove to be of much use to this young lady as would medical science, it should ease her pain."

"Thank you," said Serge gratefully, as a tear rolled down his cheek. 

The shaman walked over to the bed and bent down by her side. Her hands slid out of her sleeves and slid into view. On her right hand, she wore three rings of humble wooden design. Affixed onto each ring, was a glowing bead of the holy Elemental white. She raised her right hand over Kid's head and closed her eyes in prayer.

A shield of faint white wrapped Kid in its embrace of recovery. As the glows of the beads in the shaman's hand gradually faded, the shield drowned Kid in a cocoon of angel white, as if she were healed by the hands of the divine. A draft of cool wind blew at Serge and gently ruffled his fringe. As the Element worked its magic, the stifling heat that lingered in the air departed, living behind a refreshing scent of the ocean waters. When the last of the glows vanished, the short-lived magic around Kid faded and revealed on her face a look of relief and bliss, as if she had been purged of her poisoning. Yet, the color on Kid's face and arms remained that of a ghostly white, for she remained under the mercy of the venom.

Serge was pleasantly amazed by the shaman's skill of wielding Elemental magic, for there were few who could cast the White shield of recovery to the point that seemed as if heaven opened its gates. He was pleased to know that Kid seemed to feel better, as the shaman had promised. He found a sense of relief wash over him, as if even he were healed by the spell of recovery.

The shaman turned to Serge, and slid her hands into her sleeves and hid them from view. Her gaze fell upon his hand with keen interest, the hand that held the pouch with the Astral Amulet. 

"I sense magic in the pouch you hold," she spoke humbly. Then she looked up at Serge. "And I sense that you something you wish to tell me." 

Indeed, Serge felt like pouring everything to anyone who exuded such wisdom, for Serge knew that he or she might have answers that he sought. He felt compelled to relate his whole story to the compassionate shaman, but he knew he had little time to engage in such lengthy, expensive conversations.

"I come from another world," Serge summarized. "In the world I come from, I lived up till today. But in this world that I do not belong, I died ten years ago."

"What in the hell?" the shocked ferryman shrilled, as his eyes darted between Serge, Leena and the lady shaman. "You died ten years ago?"

Serge regarded the noisy ferryman blankly.

The shaman's lips parted in wonder. "Do you speak the truth?"

"Yes," Serge nodded. "But it is a long story."

"I see. At first, I thought that you might have been a lost spirit that had taken possession of a mortal body that is not rightfully yours. But I was mistaken. And now I understand. That explains why you have an odd air about you, for it is one that does not belong to this world." The shaman drew a gentle breath as she shifted her eyes to the pouch in Serge's hand. "And as for what you hold in the pouch, it seems to possess powers of the extraordinary. But be very careful, for such powers may bring about phenomenon of the mysterious and open doors to worlds unknown."

Serge raised and opened his hand, revealing the pouch in full view. He watched its folds slowly ease and its velvet cloth very slowly spring back into form, as if it were a flower that tried to bloom in summer. "Can it, then, open the door to my own world?"

"It may be possible."

"But even if I may return to my world, I cannot leave Kid like this. I have to find the antidote to neutralize Kid's poison. But the Hydra is now extinct in El Nido."

"Have you considered the fact that events in your world may be different from the events in this?"

Serge gripped the pouch and looked up at the shaman, as he began to realize the implications of the shaman's words.

"Yes!" Serge exclaimed, as he turned to Leena. He imagined that Leena, who had seen these several days with him, might have easily figured out the answer just as he just did. But her weary, teary eyes regarded Serge with confusion. 

"Why did I not think of that?" Serge continued. "Even if Hydras do not exist in this world, it might still exist in my world. You are right!" Serge turned to the shaman. "I remember hearing of Hydras that still roam on the central continent in my world. But even if we think the Astral Amulet does what we wish it will do, where should we activate it to get back to my own world?"

"There is a saying, that 'where one enters, where one leaves.' You are bright young man. The answer should not prove too elusive."

"But of course!" Serge exclaimed as a chill seized his body.

The shaman's advice that was plain and simple was the most enlightening. Serge noticed that the shaman had even used the same words of the ancient sage, as if these were idiomatic responses under such circumstances. He had failed to realize what the sage meant then. But upon shaman Steena's reminder, the answer had come to him. He realized that the simple solution to the simple problem that he sought had suddenly come into light. This was the answer that had been buried in his mind under a thousand other problems, but it was one that had revealed itself to him at this timely moment. 

Serge knew where this door between both worlds lied, for there could be only one place through which he had entered into this world.

"Thank you, shaman Steena!" exclaimed Serge, who could find no more words to express his gratitude.

"I did nothing to deserve the gratitude," she replied, shaking her head. "You had all the answers; I merely opened your eyes to them. If you wish to save your friend, you must act now. I will stay with her and I will pray for her by the hour. But you must hurry, for I fear she will not hold on too long."

"Yes, of course!" Serge's blood rushed with renewed hope. 

He turned to Leena and the ferryman and pulled them out of the patient's room. They stumbled clumsily on their way out for Serge's strength that dragged them at their arms dragged them too fast for their feet. Unaware that the door frame was too narrow, Serge blindly dragged and slammed the two's shoulders squarely into it. They only gasped at the pain and they made no noise, as if any scream at such trivial pain were disregard for Kid who suffered worse but suffered silently.

"We have to leave now," Serge said. "Korcha, please ready your boat. And Leena, please help Korcha. As soon as I get a vial from the doctor to store the humor, I'll join you at the pier."

"Where are we headed to?" Leena grimaced, as she massaged her bruised shoulder.

"Where one enters, where one leaves," Serge mused. "We head to Opassa Beach."

Against all persuasion, Serge had insisted using his double-bladed swallow as an additional oar. He dug furiously into the water till his arms ached. Still, he continued to dig for as long as the boat was nowhere near shore, till the ache in his arms turned numb. Perspiration soaked the back of his vest and heat of the sun stung the back of his neck. Yet, an icy cold chilled under the surface of his arms and back, as if it were symptoms that he were about to fall ill. Still, he continued to dig hard into the ocean blue.

As the boat approached shore, Serge leapt off it and sloshed towards the beach, splashing water onto Leena who followed closely behind. He wasn't aware he was drenching Leena. He was only aware of the mile expanse of white sands that stretched from one end of his vision to another. He focused intently on the one spot that he fainted on just two afternoons ago, for it must be where the door that had lied hidden from eyes. He had then cast all magic of the Elemental, but found none that was the key to the unseen lock. Now, he was not certain even if with the Astral Amulet that the door to his world would open and welcome him warmly, or would remain sealed and shut him out coldly. Worse, he could find no explanation as to why Kid should hold the key to his world. 

Serge stood at where he lost consciousness two afternoons ago. Where the depression in the sand should have been, now floated a small sphere ominously, a sphere no larger than the size of a pea. Dark emptiness peered through the little sphere, like the darkness of a room that could be seen through a small keyhole. A faint, circular shadow blanketed the sands near the sphere, but was cast from no body physical. Ominous green smoke rose through the sphere, rose into Serge's eyes and sent shudders through his muscles. The Astral Amulet had gotten warmer, as if calling for its use.

"This is where the world was split in twain, you say?" the ferryman asked Serge, his 8staring at the phenomenon in disbelief. "This was where you died ten years ago?"

Serge had related to the ferryman about his plight on the way. But the ferryman seemed to have understood little of it.

"Where even angels lose their way," added Serge. "Are you coming with us, Korcha?"

The ferryman waved both hands nervously. "Wait just a minute! I'm only a ferryman," he rejected quickly. Then, with one hand scratching the back of his head, he said, "Besides, I've to guard my boat." The ferryman flashed a wide grin. "I'll wait for you here, instead!"

            "I understand," said Serge.

            The ferryman gladly excused himself and hurried back to his boat. As he tried to make himself look busy with the anchoring of the boat, Serge squatted and examined the portal that had made itself visible in the presence of the amulet. Leena bent down beside him and laid her hand on his shoulder.

"Serge," she said softly, listlessly. "I... I have something to say to you."

"W-What is it?" asked Serge as he turned to look at her. He recalled the other Leena in his world had said something similar.

"I know this is not an appropriate time, but... I'm sorry, Serge."

"Why should you be?" Serge asked, curious, nervous.

"I'm sorry I didn't believe you, then, when you told me you were from Arni, when you told me you didn't die ten years ago. I must have said many, many things that hurt you. I'm so very sorry."

Leena stood straight and looked up into the clear blue skies. Her fists were clenched and her arms were stiff by her sides. Her eyes were swollen and dry. Yet, she bit her lips as if she tried to hold back tears that did not flow.

"I don't blame you," said Serge as he stood up and breathed small relief. "Besides, I called you a liar, too, didn't I?"

Leena turned to Serge. "Yes, you called me a liar," she said, sniffing. "How dare you." She tried a smile.

Serge had never seen Leena so spiritless. The tips of her smile had been forced up into cheeks weighed down by sorrows. Her smile looked awful and disheartening. Yet, this smile told him how different this Leena was from the one he knew in his own world. The two were like undistinguishable shades of color, until placed side by side for scrutiny. This Leena knew her own faults and was not afraid to admit them. The one in Serge's world, however, only knew to pick out others'.

"Now," Leena continued softly. "I just hope Kid will be fine."

Serge stared at the warm pouch in his hand. A great responsibility had fallen on Serge's shoulders. Kid's life was in his hands, he chanted repeatedly to himself.

"Will you be heading home first?" asked Leena.

"Yes, I will," Serge replied. "It is only right that she knows that I am safe."

"But, of course."

"Let's go," Serge said.

Leena nodded.

Serge had Leena stand within the shadow on the sand. He bent down and touched the Astral Amulet to the pea-sized sphere that floated in mid-air. With a heart aching and pounding, he watched. 

The rising smoke swiveled round and into the amulet. Flakes of white light appeared, rising from the circular shadow and surrounding Serge and Leena. The sparkle of lights grew into flares that diverted from their rising path to gather at the wooden amulet. Serge's body froze in motion, as he felt as if every inch was being stretched to the point of tearing. He could not grit his teeth and make a noise. He could only stand helpless, as the pain tore into his mind. Sounds of the mortal world soon faded away. Taking its place were those of violent winds brushing against his ears. A huge wave of froth blasted up from the green shadow on the ground and engulfed the two in a dizzying spin of water. The two stood in the center of the storm, but they stood unharmed as if they did in the eye of a twister. As water rushed into the distant heavens above, darkness crept up slowly from their feet.

Serge closed his eyes and allowed the Astral Amulet to work its magic, as he made his journey into a world that he hoped was his own. He was not certain if his encounter with Kid was of a coincidence, or of a predestined fate, but he was certain he liked none of both.


	12. Book 2 Chapter 2 Riding the Waves of Tim...

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**Book 2**

**2   Riding the Waves of Time**

If destiny brought Kid to Serge, would destiny take Kid away now that she had outlived her usefulness? This was the fleeting thought on Serge's mind as the portal tunneled him from one world to another.

The sounds of rushing winds soon wheezed into silence, as if the winds had been sucked out completely from the black void. Another row of snow-colored froth gushed upwards, washing up a view similar to the very one it washed away. 

Opassa Beach greeted the travelers with the sounds of the cycle of flow and ebb of the calm waves, a cycle unbroken since the dawn of time. Seagulls soared through the afternoon sky, cheerfully singing their way on to their destinations, repeating a similar unbroken cycle of their daily life known to them since their birth into this world. The coolness of the weather was to Serge a sudden dip in temperature that brought a nostalgic chill to Serge's skin; one that instantly reminded him of the comfortable climate he had been so used to, but that he had almost forgotten existed. Even the puffy mushrooms of white clouds that were a rare sight in the other world were now once again in full blossom under the blue heaven.

The magic, or perhaps "science," that took them on the ride over the waves of time had faded into nothing more than what Serge saw earlier -- streaks of smoke rising up from a mysterious, ghostly source. Be it magic or science, Serge was now back, assuming that the world he ended up in was his own.

"We're here," Serge commented the obvious. On the one hand, his heart raced with elation. On the other, his heart raced against the counting of time. He had wondered about it on the ferryman's boat. And if he were right in his assumptions, then every hour they spent in the world he belonged, was every hour wasted in the other. Each tick of the clock in this world counted down to Kid's death in the other. 

"It felt like my body was split," Leena said as she gazed into the clouded heavens. "It was strange. It's hard to believe, even if I know this cannot be the world I live in. I can see and feel the difference. How has been like for the other version of myself to have lived in this world, I wonder?" Leena appeared wistful.

"Do you wish to stop by Arni meet with her?"

Leena turned and cast Serge an uncertain glance. "Meet who?"

"You," said Serge. "The Leena in my world."

"Oh," she hesitated. "I-I think now's not the time. I'll wait for you instead at the Divine Dragon Falls?"

With a nod, Serge said, "Let us hurry then."

Serge and Leena ran. They ran past the Lizard Rock and witnessed the decomposition of the carcass of the huge mother lizard that had fallen prey to Serge's Elemental prowess. Serge regarded the gruesome sight of scavengers--large and tiny--of the well-cooked meat with disgust, but he noted that the sight must be a confirmation this was the very world in which he had lived and grown up in. The sudden realization of the existence and his experience of the two similar yet totally different worlds wrapped chill around his flesh.

Past the Lizard Rock, Leena took the trail that led to the Divine Dragon Falls.

Serge continued to run; run towards home.

"Serge, you are back!" exclaimed an old fellow villager at the village entrance. 

The exclamation drew the village crowd over, each pouring words of concern in a jumble of incoherence. 

"Where have you been?" 

"Everyone's been looking for you!" 

"You mother has been worried sick!"

The all too familiar sight had unfolded before Serge's eyes. Dried fish hung from the walls of the hut. The huge catch for today by the village fisherman had gone up in the hammock at the edge of the village. The familiar odor that would bring food out of one's guts brought an unbearable lump up to his throat. The familiar faces that greeted Serge left his eyes with mist and left his neck quivering with longing.

This was home.

"It's a long story," he said, fighting the tears back. "I'll explain it to you some other time. Where's mom?"

"She's at home," was the unanimous reply.

"Thank you." 

Serge wiggled his way through the emotional crowd who seemed reluctant to let him pass. He held his tears back at the sudden swarm of concern. He wanted to leave them for his mother as an apology, an apology for leaving without a word and for returning so late.

Serge snuffled when eventually he stepped in his own home. His watery eyes were fed with the satiating sight of his small, modest living room, lit healthily yellow by the afternoon sun. The ambient of yellow was to him cheerfulness, warmth that brought back memories of bliss. As he walked past the living room, he drowned himself in that warmth, relishing with every step its tender loving embrace. 

Serge walked up the short flight of stairs. He saw Marge in her room, sitting on the edge of her bed, in tears. She looked up and studied Serge.

"Serge?" she said with a voice hoarse and exhausted.

Serge hurried to her, sank to his knees and hugged her.

"Mom!" he cried. Tears flowed.

"Serge!" she cried in delight and returned the hug. "W-Where've you been? You had me worried! I thought you might have left, like your father did. Leena told me that you... you disappeared!" Marge squeezed Serge. "What would I do, if you were gone? What would I do!?"

She broke into uncontrollable sobs.

"Don't be silly, mom. I have never left," he said softly as he patted her on her back. His heart ached at the thought of the other world where Marge died ten years ago of loneliness. The thought of the same that might happen to his mother brought tears flooding through his eyes and washing down his cheeks. 

Mother and son held each other in their arms, each overwhelmed by the surge of relief. Weeps of worries bottled up over the unbearable two days continued endlessly for the next quarter of the hour. As the weeping slowly subsided, the physical touch slowly touched their hearts with a soothing relief, as if it seeped in through their skins. It soon grew to be an addiction that none of them both were able to resist, to bear letting go. But Serge made a move. And reluctantly, they painfully tore themselves apart and communicated with their eyes. Tears still continued to flow nevertheless, over a smile that they could finally smile, expressing joy that required no mouth to voice, no ear to listen.

"It's been a long story, mom," wept Serge. "I will explain it to you some other time. But right now, I have something very important to do."

She patted him firmly on his shoulders, managing a curious surprise behind her tears. "You seem..."

"What is it?"

"Why, you seem... you seem to have grown up a little," she said, seizing Serge's hands. "And what important matter are you talking about?"

"I need to save a friend, she's dying. But I promise I will be back."

Marge wiped the tears off her face.

"Of course!" she said with a tone proud, and with a pat of encouragement. "Do what you have to do, Serge. Do not let her down." 

"Thank you, mom," he responded spontaneously, hugging her again, grateful for her unconditional support, no different from the one she had been giving to him all these years living together. "Thank you."

"Serge! Where've you been?" shouted an angry voice from the door. 

Serge turned up to see Leena, standing with fists on her hips, feet wide apart. 

"You disappeared from the beach! Don't scare me like that!"

"Leena?" Serge asked. For a moment, he was baffled by the identity of the girl who stood before him and demanded answers. It didn't take him long enough to conclude that this was the Leena he grew up with. She was obviously not upset about Kid's impending departure. And this Leena whom he had made a promise to five years ago at Cape Howl, shed no tear at the sight of his return. When it dawned on him that this Leena was his childhood friend, he was a little saddened that she did not even speak of a word of concern.

Instead, she walked up to Serge and punched him in his arm. 

"Don't scare me like that!" she yelled accusingly.

"Mom, Leena, I really have to go," said Serge, seizing his mother's hands tightly in his own. "But I will return and tell you all that had happened."

"Do take care of yourself, Serge," Marge reminded gently, wiping the remaining tears off her cheeks.

"I will," replied Serge reassuringly.

"You..." Leena muttered. Her voice was unconventionally low. "You are leaving again, Serge?"

"It will just be for a couple of days." 

Serge stood up and walked towards the door.

"Serge, I... um..." she said hesitantly. "Nothing."

He nodded at her, and said with little gratefulness and with much disappointment, "Goodbye."

Serge left the village, seen off by his mother, his childhood friend and the whole village.

Water was said to run within the cavities of Mount Pyre. Geysers from beneath the ground evaporated and condensed in the rocky cracks. Condensation gathered into droplets, droplets became trickles, trickles formed streams and streams combined into gushes that found their way through an opening in the south of the mountain range. The result was a column of pure white water that fell through a tall opening and plunged down to a large, clear water lake. Mists hung low near the lake, adding the touch of divinity to the Divine Dragon Falls. The lake had once been likened to the palm of a hand, and its stretches of mists the long reaching fingers that gently touched the palm of the hand, just as they touched anyone who appreciated the beauty of Nature's work.

Word said that in the past, the Divine Dragon Falls had been a common place of worship for believers of the Divine Dragon Faith. With the coming of the mainlanders who colonized El Nido, and the spread of the disbelief of the Dragon Gods, this place had witnessed the dwindling number of believers over the past century. An aged devotee or two could, however, be spotted occasionally, trudging laboriously up a ledge on the southern wall of the mountain range, up into a small cavern within the mountain walls, a cavern that was once considered holy, sacred ground. Today, the entire landscape was considered forsaken, forgotten.

Serge spotted Leena by the side of the huge lake, bent down and sipping from her hands. As he approached her, she bent forward, poked her head into the water. As she gurgled noisily underneath the surface, bubbles danced around her head. The hems of her long, red dress were wet. So was her long, shiny red hair. She did not appear to care about more of those that she did seem to relish the touch of the divine cool of the lake water. When she finally tossed her head back, she exhaled in pleasure, smiled in delight, for she must have savored the experience.

"This is wonderful, Serge," she said with her eyes closed. "In my world, the water in the Divine Dragon Falls is warm. It's not even soothing warm. It's unbearably warm."

Then, she sighed, opened her eyes and gazed at Serge.

"Is Mrs. Serge fine?" she asked concernedly.

With this question, Serge compared again. Leena and Leena. The fact that they wore the two same faces and carried the two same names was undisputable. He saw two copies of the same person, each of whom lived her life differently and independently from the other, not knowing the other existed. A feeling had crept up to him and it was strange, even bizarre and beyond his imagination and his daily musings of life and death, body and soul. The feeling tingled in his skin, as if the mist clasped Serge with its cold fingers. But like how the strange feeling had crept up to him, an old proverb soon came to him and shed light upon his inexplicable dilemma. "It is the looks that hide a person; and the heart that defines him." It was thus, he saw the two Leenas as two different people, as if they wore two different faces. 

"Serge? What's wrong?" she asked, as she stood and wringed her hair.

"Nothing. She is well, thank you."

"Does"--her gaze fell to the ground--"the other Leena know that you are back?"

"She... Yes."

"That's good," she muttered with a wistful nod. Then, she looked up, raised her brows, bit her lips, and shrugged. She tried to look unconcerned, but for what reason, Serge was not certain. "Well, let us go, shall we?" she continued. "Kid is waiting."

The Hydra Marshes was home to the living Hydras, gigantic snakes that thrived in these dark, swampy regions of the southeastern parts of the central continent. Unlike those documented in mythological references, the Hydra in El Nido grew one single head, and had no unusual ability to grow extra if it were cut off. The origins of the names given to these very creatures were no longer known amongst the El Nidons. It was only imagined the reason was that the Hydra bore some form resemblance to their mythological counterparts; or perhaps the living Hydra represented a mythological idolism, worshipped by people in the past. 

Apart from the Hydras, the dark swamp was home to other poisonous plants. Flowers of striking purple sprouted in abundance throughout the marshes, concocting beneath its deceiving beauty toxic that could render anyone a painful death if not treated early enough. These plants often attacked its victims (or prey) by exploding from its sacs a powdery substance that when inhaled or contacted with, could cause one to fall extremely ill. Even though it was treatable with the commonest forms of antidotes at the early stages of infection, the Hydra Marshes was not a place many even endeavored to venture into.

The marsh was known for its network of vines and leafless branches of scarlet red sprouting from what people call the Ba Trees. The long arms of these red branches stretched toward the skies directly above the marshes, as if they formed a protective net over the swamp. It can be seen from afar as a scenic dome of red, much like the shape of a heart, except it did not beat like one should. These Ba Trees and the community of poisonous plants underneath it lived together in a strange synergy. While the strong arms of the branches provided the necessary shading and cool conditions to the plants, the decomposition of these packs and other animals that died under their poison provided the essential nourishments to the Ba Trees.

The mutual goodwill did not end there, however, for it was rumored that even the Hydra was an essential part of an extremely delicate chain of survival in the marshes. In areas where the swamps would have been extremely poisonous for other creatures, the Hydra absorbed most of the toxins into its own body. It was said that because the Hydra possessed special chemicals in their body, they were able to have the toxins in their body neutralized. Consequently, these chemicals were one of the main reasons for the rampant Hydra hunting, for their meat, skin, and especially for the chemical extracts from their body.

A clan of creatures built their homes in the thick trunks of the Ba Trees. These yellow creatures walked around with a bell over their neck and an umbrella riddled with holes. They spoke hardly intelligibly. Even though they tried hard at learning the common tongue, they interrupted almost every single spoken word with a habitual "beeba." And when asked who they were, they simply called themselves the "Beebas."

Serge and Leena trod carefully through the dangerous marsh, taking care to avoid the venomous plants. After wading through large pools of pungent muck and brushing through thick growth of tall weeds, they found themselves in a clearing, a rare part of the mash padded only with dark, brown sand. Further beyond the clearing was a trail that led into a thick growth of grass and Ba trees. Upon crossing the clearing, Serge forged ahead cautiously through thick growth with Leena following close behind. As they pressed on, the growth thinned, revealing what seemed to be a murky lake. 

Serge found his pulse racing with anticipation, for he saw a Hydra resting in the lake. He signaled for Leena to slow and proceed silently. As Serge reached the edge of the growth, he scanned carefully his environs. The lake, banked by mud of dirty grey, reached a shallow depth of perhaps no more than waist-deep in most areas. A hedge of tall growth encircled the lake, concealing it from eyes beyond its little world. The Hydra had coiled itself up like a giant snake and had its head poking above the water like a large crocodile. Even if it seemed to have its eyes fixed intently on Serge, it seemed contented to rest lazily under the cool afternoon sun that stole through the Ba branches. 

"I cannot believe," whispered Leena, "that there's a Hydra right before my eyes."

"Keep our voices low, Leena," Serge ordered under his breath. "We sneak up to its back."

And sneaked up they did. The Hydra seemed to notice, and Serge was aware that it did. After the encounter with the mother lizard that could have cost him his life, he knew better than to be deceived by the creature's docility. The Hydra was, with its huge body mass, known to defend itself should the need arise. But driven by the desire to see Kid returned to the pink of health, Serge feared none of what strength the creature would demonstrate. He would and must ensure that death come swift to the limbless reptile. With that goal in mind, Serge began going through his options, strategizing his attacks, and taking into account the terrain presented to him.

The hedge provided little cover, for movements through it ruffled the growth and attracted the receptive ears. The murky water would prove to be of a hindrance, and an advantage to the Hydra for it could slither through it easier than they could wade through it. The Hydra would coil around its victim and crush it to death effortlessly. The lake was, however, small room for the Hydra to move, should it endeavor to slither into pockets of safety and launch from an attack from it. With a team of two, they could flank the Hydra on its left and right, with Leena offering as the main distraction and Serge coming from behind and dealing the fatal kill with his swallow. Confident that the plan would work out, Serge laid it out on the table for Leena. She agreed to play the distraction.

After reminding Leena to watch her six, Serge gave the word to go. Serge and Leena crept from the back of the Hydra to its right and left respectively. The Hydra seemed suddenly disconcerted at the impending hostility flanked at its sides, for its tail rattled beneath the water and disturbed the lake, stirring clouds of mud beneath its surface. Serge watched the Hydra with wary eyes as he inched in synchrony with Leena towards the Hydra. When he was certain they were ready, Serge gave Leena the nod. Leena charged at the Hydra, her dagger flashing in the afternoon sunlight. Instead of guarding Leena's strike, the Hydra jolted its head above water, and turned to stare furiously at Serge.

Serge, taken by surprise, returned a shocked stare as he stood rooted to the ground. The Hydra lunged forward and slammed its head into Serge, throwing him off his feet and sending him tumbling into the hedge. Pain seized his being and stars burst wildly in his vision, as Serge struggled to sit up from the fall. His head spun so wildly that it he found his body falling to his side. Determined not to collapse under the fainting spell, he planted his hand on the ground to bolster his weight. He struggled to keep his eyes open, for if he closed them, the swirling in his head felt worse and threatened to swallow him into unconsciousness. As he fought to regain his sanity, he vaguely heard Leena shouting from his back.

"Serge!" she cried. "Are you all right?"

She received no response. But Leena pressed ahead with her threat anyway, sloshed into the water, and aimed her dagger at the Hydra's body. The Hydra dived beneath the water and slithered around Leena. The lake that was now opaque provided the perfect hiding for the Hydra.

"H-Help!" Leena cried.

Shocked by the swift counter-offensive and the fact that the enemy had cleverly hidden itself from view, she began to stab aimlessly, frantically into the water. When she felt her dagger pierce flesh, she jabbed relentlessly at the same spot in the water. Before long, she felt water swirl around her feet, and felt it stir terror in her heart. She managed another futile jab into the Hydra's body before she found herself wrapped by its slippery scales. The Hydra thrust its head above water, and shrank its coil around Leena. The crushing strength forced Leena to tears. She tried to scream, but her voice found no means past her choking neck.

Serge trampled towards the bank of the lake with an Element bead between his fingers. Pooling his concentration, he cast a Red at the Hydra's cranium. A flame burst into existence and licked at the Hydra's face. The giant snake howled in pain. It released its devastating grip on Leena, leaving her to sink into the lake. 

"Leena!" yelled Serge, as he kept his eyes on the struggling Hydra.

Leena disappeared beneath the water as the Hydra dipped its head into the water and doused the burning flame. Serge swung his swallow forward and bolted towards the Hydra, just as the Hydra lifted its head into view. Channeling his might into the swallow, roaring his war cry, Serge shoved his weapon into the Hydra's body below its head, through it and then he yanked it out forcefully. As the blades tore through the skin, flesh and the tendons, the Hydra howled painfully. He felt the layers of flesh ripping through the hilt of his swallow, and felt as if he heard them amplify within his ear drums. Credit to the Hydra's violent struggles, the swallow succeeded in tearing out a large chunk of flesh and snapping several delicate bones on its way out. Precious fluid of shiny green squirted from the Hydra's open wound.

Anxiety gripped Serge's mind, as he bolted to where Leena sank. Serge groped for her in the murky water. When he found her, he carried her into his arms and deposited her on the lake bank, where she coughed mud through her lips.

"Leena!" cried Serge, as he drew a White and cast upon her the shield of recovery.

After the healing finished its magic, Leena began to fling her arms in hysteria. "I am fine!" she insisted stubbornly. "That Hydra! I shall have it diced up"-- she coughed violently and threw up more mud --"and mashed like a potato!"

Serge had her lie down and said, "Leena, Take a rest first."

He walked over to the dying Hydra and hauled its weight out of the lake to the bank. With the tip of his swallow, he made a small slit in the Hydra's body and plugged the vial into it to collect the humor. The Hydra howled eerily under the canopy of the Ba branches, as if it carried with it tears of disbelief and discontent. Distant echoes of the same howl returned, as if they carried the sympathy of the marshes and its inhabitants, who all cried with the dying Hydra. Even birds that sat atop the Ba branches looked down solemnly, as if in bereavement for their fellow living being, and as if in disgust for what its murderer had done. The Hydra regarded Serge with vengeful eyes, eyes that watered and trickled tears. As it drew its last breathe, the Hydra's gaze froze into a stare of the biting cold; a cold that seemed to pierce Serge's skin like the swallow pierced the Hydra's. 

Serge turned away from the stares and minded the splitting aches in his arms and head.

Leena, miserably drenched in mud, had staggered over to Serge, panting. She fell onto her knees and placed a hand on Serge's shoulders for support.

"You've k-killed it?" she commented weakly. "G-Good."

"Are you all right?" asked Serge as he massaged his neck.

"Y-Yes," she stammered. "Bleah. I-I realize mud don't taste good."

Leena licked her tongue on her lips and spitted. She examined herself from head to toe in repulsion, for each part of her was covered in muddy water that still trickled down. Her dress that was completely soiled was now a uniform color of a gloomy gray. Patches of gray and brown stained her face, through which only the white of her eyes and her gritted teeth were most obvious. She sighed tiredly, as if resigned.

"You can wash up when we get back to your world's Guldove," said Serge. "I'm sorry."

"I understand, Serge," said Leena. "But... thank you for saving me."

"It was my blunder," Serge admitted. "I almost had you killed."

"I... B-But I am still alive and kicking!" She managed a little smile. "Besides, you've already saved me, didn't you?" she ended on a soft note.

Leena sat down wearily at the lake bank, rested her eyes and rubbed her temples. Following Leena, Serge sank to his bottoms and admired Leena, who seemed to him, more composed even after the close brush with the Hydra. When he saw that she seemed to have forgiven and forgotten, he felt guilty that he sent her forward first. And when he looked up into the Ba branches to see unrelenting stares from the birds, he felt guilty for the Hydra's death.

"I'm sorry that the Hydra has to go," said Serge, happy to know that Leena was beside him to share the stares of the marsh's seemingly unforgiving community. "It may have almost killed us both, but it was only defending itself."

"You think too much," said Leena and sneezed. "We cannot have everything in life. Do what you think is best for yourself and for the people around you, because they are the most important to you. Kid is more important to me than this vicious creature over here. Kid is more important to you than a Hydra, is that not right?"

"Yes, of course," agreed Serge with a nod.

"There's nothing to worry about, then. Even if the Gods send you to hell as a punishment, at least you know that you've saved Kid from their grasp."

Serge regarded Leena curiously with an eyebrow raised. Then, he walked up to the Hydra and unplugged from the Hydra's carcass the vial filled with the greenish humor.

"Er... Well, I am glad that we've found some humor for Kid, even though I think you look so stiff that you could use some of it." She coughed. Intentionally or not, Serge was not certain. "But now that we've settled even the moral issues, let's head back to my Guldove."

"Yes, let's," said Serge.

A wave of anticipation lifted his feet and set him fleeting over the marsh and towards Opassa Beach, through the waves of time into the other world and towards the other Guldove. 

"She has passed the critical period," the doctor reported.

Serge heaved a sigh. The aches that he had gathered from the continuous runs, and that he had completely forgotten now began to seep into his skin. The aches soaked into his muscles and hung from them weights of thousand tons, like water that soaked cloth. His arms began to shiver and his legs began to wobble, as if they were about to crumble into dust under the sudden, invisible burden. But any pain was worth Kid's recovery, Serge strongly believed. Her well-being was the pillar of strength that he could lend as his support. Indeed, even if the invisible weight of the ache threatened to bring him to his knees, his undying desire to see Kid kept him upright.

Leena's had her hands cover her mouth. Tears of joy rolled down and cleansed her dirty, gray cheeks.

"Thank you," said Serge softly, reaching his aching hands to seize and shake the doctor's.

"No, it is I who must say thank you. She has held up well, but only thanks to you both. You have done the impossible by finding the antidote. And I still cannot believe it."

"Can we see her, doctor?" Serge asked.

"Just you alone," said the doctor. "It will be a little while before she falls asleep from the anesthetic."

"Thank you," Serge said gratefully. Turning around to Leena, he said, "Wait outside, Leena."

After Leena agreed, Serge strode into the patient's room and to Kid's bed. His legs screamed in his mind for a well-deserved rest and Serge let them. They finally gave way and brought his knees crashing onto the wooden floor. He was grateful they had faithfully served him well throughout his little journey and even had delivered him to Kid, despite having endured the past several moments in searing pain. 

Kid turned from her side slowly to face him. Her lips and skin remained a ghostly pale, the sign of the tough relentless battle she had put up against the merciless poison. But Serge's keen eyes noticed something different, something glaring and seeking his attention, something that poured euphoria into his being. She wore a smile on her face that everyone, including Kid, had fought so hard for. Even if it was a smile weary and exhausted.

Kid laughed weakly. "You've become bloody handsome while I was out of it," she said slowly, with a soft, gentle voice that she had never once spoken with. 

"Kid," he said with his left hand seizing hers, and his right caressing her forehead.

"I don't know all the details, but I heard what happened from the doctor." She paused for a while and blinked her eyes slowly. "Looks like there's been a lot going on while I was asleep. I guess it proves that you can take care of yourself now?"

A choking lump had gathered in his throat as he relished her delightful voice that he had once thought he would never hear again. The moving voice stirred torrents of emotions in his heart as much as it drowned his pains and aches. The soothing voice was to him divine medicine that healed his body and warmth his soul, more powerful than any Elemental magic of the Holy White could conjure up. This voice of a living angel had touched him and opened the gates in his eyes. A drop of tear rolled down each of his cheeks, a drop he did not even strive to wipe away. Tears soon flowed in streams and found their way to Serge's lips, streams of his feelings he did not want to hide. 

"Oi, Serge," she said with that pleasant voice. "You did good, mate. But why don't you look cheerful for a change?"

She broke loose of Serge's grasp and reached her right hand to his cheek to wipe off the tears. 

"I would've been alright without any antidote at all," she insisted.

"You are incorrigibly stubborn!" he reprimanded with a voice cracked and hoarse. 

"Believe it or not, Serge," she said, smiling. "But now, I owe you one."

"Yes, you owe me one," he smiled through the screen of tears.

            He held her hand in his and watched her close her eyes to rest. He rubbed the back of her hand at his cheek and relished the warmth and smoothness of her touch in his delicate heart. He fixed his gaze upon Kid's face that now looked restful and calm, free of suffering, free from the poisoning. Serge's tears continued to flow, not tears of sadness but those which sprang from a fountain of joy. 

The waves in the sea that splashed below the wooden floor splashed up a finale chorus of serenity, coaxing Serge into a state of dreaminess. The gentle accompaniment of metronome in the room ticked ceaselessly slowly, slowly counting down to the end of yet another day. The fiery sun outside the window rolled slowly off the horizon, as the curtain draw the act of this day to a close, as his eyelids fell upon his exhausted eyes. 

As Serge drifted slowly away to sleep, he bid Death goodbye triumphantly once more.


	13. Book 2 Chapter 3 Prelude to a Crisis

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**Book 2**

**3   Prelude to a Crisis**

Kid dressed herself this evening in a blue blouse beneath a red overall. She saw to it that her long, blonde hair was tied up neatly, leaving little of the fringe that would ruffle and mess in the chill wind tonight. Even if no winds blew, she would still have it tied up for she disliked those loose ends that tickled at her neck and shoulders. She would have had all of it mercilessly snipped, if not for Sis who had always commented that she should try to behave like a girl, or at least look like one.

Sis had been notably troubled. Several days had gone by since the demi-human's first visit to the home. Since then, he had consistently been making uninvited appearances, each time terrorizing the entire family. As a result, Sis had become tensed and absent-minded. In the kitchen, pots fell, food spilled and kettles were left to boil dry. At the laundry, buckets tumbled, shirts littered the yard and water was left to run and flood the house. During meals, Sis stared blankly into the air and spoke little. Everyone followed suit. Soon, a word had become too much effort to speak, too much effort to hear. Unnerving silence triumphed. The house turned cold and felt as much as haunted these quiet moonlit nights. The slightest sound that broke the silence set the whole family's teeth on edge. Each was fearful of another visit. Each was concerned for Sis's well-being. Life had changed and it felt as if a thief had broken into the house and robbed it of its smiles and warmth. 

This evening, before lights out, Sis busied herself in her own room with some work. On normal nights, she would be buried in her so-called research work, scribbling furiously away on a paper cluttered with complex diagrams and even more complex mathematical formulas. Instead, for the past several nights, Sis had been gazing blankly out into the star-studded heavens in sleepless solitude. It was a sight that was to Kid torment as it was probably to Sis. But tonight, her sudden retreat back to work was reason for concern. Kid planned to find out what Sis was doing, to find an opportunity to cheer her up if possible. Kid crept up to Sis from behind and saw none of the untidy scribbles that plagued every piece of her research work. Instead, she saw neat lines of writing that seemed to compose a letter. As she tried to steal a good read over Sis's shoulder out of curiosity, a creak on the wooden floor gave Kid's motion away. Kid was consequently shooed out of the room and asked sternly to return to bed. 

Kid left Sis' room disappointedly; disappointed at her own failure at the attempt to cheer Sis, disappointed at Sis's coldness. She cast a glance at the clock on the living room wall and wondered how much more of such anguish Sis and the family would have to endure. As Kid walked back to her own room pondering over what she could have done better, she heard Sis mumble to herself. From her room, papers shuffled and a whole pile smacked hard onto the wooden floor, as if rain splashed and thunder ripped through a stormy sky. Deeply concerned for Sis's well-being, Kid tiptoed nervously back towards her room.

"Please, give this to her when she wakes," Sis mumbled.

Kid peeked nervously into Sis's room. Sis had turned pale and flustered, and had edged herself against the far wall with an ice gun gripped tightly in her quivering hands. Sis had her gaze focused at the center of her room, but focused on nothing Kid could see. Yet, those eyes of Sis spoke of sorrow more than they spoke of terror as they glittered against the flickering candlelight in her room. Kid almost found herself rushing to Sis, to hug her tight, to offer words of concern and console and most of all, to hear a word of reassurance that Sis hadn't lost her mind, for she looked truly as if she had. When Sis spotted Kid stealing the glance, however, Sis hurriedly shut the door to her room without a word.

Again, Kid left worriedly, disappointedly towards the living room. Thoughts and self-reproach filled her mind. Helplessness cuffed her limbs and stuffed her mouth. An ache pounded away at her heart. She no longer knew what Sis was thinking. She no longer knew how much more Sis could hold together the family was crumbling by the day. 

A scream from one of her young friends jolted Kid, for this must be the siren that warned of the demi-human's coming. Perspiration oozed through Kid's forehead as her heart raced in terror. Her jellied legs brought to her bottoms.

Both the door to Sis's room and door at the main entrance to their house were thrown open. Sis stomped out of her room whilst the fearsome demi-human walked in silently, calmly through the main entrance.

"You again?" Sis accused frantically with a finger pointing. Tears had welled up in her eyes and gleaming against the living room lamp. "Have you not brought us enough anguish?"

"I need not speak more of my purpose," asked the demi-human coldly as his eyes scanned the room. Then, he pinned his stare on Sis and finished, "Do I?"

"The Frozen Flame spells only disaster," Sis insisted in defiance. "I will never accede to your demands. I will not let it fall into the wrong hands!"

"Do you not remember, my good doctor?" said the tall demi-human, unfazed. "It belongs to me. I only ask what's mine to be returned to me."

"Man and machine can never mix. You are different from who you think you are. The Frozen Flame does _not _belong to you."

The demi-human drew a breath. "Your cryptic philosophy boggles me, doctor. I have always held you in high regard, nonetheless, for your contributions to the scientific community. And most of all, you are the only person on earth who understands Prometheus from within. That is why I have come to you to request for your assistance."

"By terrorizing my family? Why must you do this?" Sis shrilled. A tear rolled down her cheeks. "You are only using me to fulfill your foolish whimsies. You obviously are not aware of what the Frozen Flame entails! It is not a wish-granter, at least not for you. Unless you are the arb--"

"I appreciate your concern. But my patience wears thin. I shall only ask one more time. Tell me how to unlock it."

"In your dreams, Lynx."

"Very well," said Lynx.

Lynx's affixed his gaze upon Kid who looked up at those fearsome eyes in terror. She found her eyes arrested by his gaze, and caught within it, as if caught by an unseen hand that refused to let go. She tried to wrench her head away from his frozen gaze, but she found that her muscles and her will had departed. She even tried to close her eyes, but her lids only managed as much as a short blink. Exposed, defenseless and completely powerless, Kid sat on her bottoms petrified. Terror pounded furiously in her head, worse than the deafening drums of war. Each beat sent a hysterical shiver throughout each muscle, a violent chatter in her teeth, as if they were periodic convulsions that a malicious virus had subjected her to.

Kid counted slowly through the most fearful moment of her life, when everything slowed to a crawl. Sis's frantic call for desist dipped to a low hum, like the deep, booming bellow of a huge bear. Lynx's step took forever to move, just as the clock on the living room wall took eons to tick past a second. Lynx's menacing silhouette enlarged slowly as he approached. His paw moved and reached out slowly, as each strand of fur on it became clearer and each claw grew sharper, until a sensation, clammy and bitter cold, settled at her neck...

Kid drew her dagger, sat up and thrust it forward into thin air. She perspired profusely and panted furiously. When she saw the sun of the early morning streaming through the window, she was surprised that the morning that had come so soon saved her from Lynx's terror. But when she realized her bottoms rested on a comfortable, she realized that what she had just experienced was but memories that plagued her dreams for the past five years. Memories that she was loath to forget. A dream that she was loath to dream. She buried her head in her hands and yearned to relieve herself of the distressing, cumbersome burden of vengeance in the form of tears. But her eyes refused to even mist for they had gone dry of any sorrow as much her lips had gone parched.

Serge suddenly appeared by her bed on his knee, looking extremely worried. Kid startled. 

"What's wrong?" he asked concernedly.

"Y-You've been h-here _all _night?" she asked, stammering. On the one hand, she chided herself of being careless of letting her guard down. On the other, she was moved by Serge's sudden display of concern.

"Yes," he said indifferently, "but what's wrong? I heard you scream."

"Oh nothing," she replied before taking a deep breathe to regain composure. "Just a dream."

"Just look at you," he said as he stumbled clumsily over to a cabinet, rinsed a wet cloth and stumbled back to the bedside. Very gently, he dabbed the warm cloth over her forehead and soaked up the perspiration.

As Serge tenderly nursed her, Kid admired his gentle eyes of blue that were intent on her forehead. She could not help admit that they were sensitive, alluring and exuded a beauty that raised the spirits of anyone who looked into it. Even the burden brought about by the recurring dream lifted itself off her mind and shoulders. Her shoulders sagged lazily and savored a short moment of rest, just as she savored a short moment of being showered with concern. But she shifted her gaze away for she soon became embarrassed that she had ogled at a man's eyes, something she considered taboo, promiscuous, and downright sickening.

"Oi!" she yelled, snatching over the cloth and wiping her forehead in one prompt sweep. "I can take care of myself." 

She climbed out of bed and stretched her muscles, stiff from a whole day of inaction. But her movements were hindered by a restrictive, pink dress, which must have been forced onto her by the nurse while she was asleep. It was tight, uncomfortable, and making her itch. Worst of all, she looked awfully sissy in its pink. Nothing was better than the loose, unrestrictive red outfit that revealed her slender thighs, arms and a well-toned tummy. Designed for freedom of movement, cut to be aerodynamically superior (or so she felt), her thieving outfit was to her a personal statement of audacity and non-conformity. She earned, much to her delight, the queasiness of her fellow women, who often dismissed her style of dress as blasphemy compared to their conservative ones. She also earned, however, the gaping stares of deprived men, both the young and the _very _old, though she had long learned to live with it.

Walking over to the clothesline, she grabbed her outfit and tossed it on the bed like she tossed the memories of her dream aside. 

"So what plans do you have, Serge?" she asked as she walked to a full-length mirror and tied a ponytail. "You've already found a way back to your world. You can just return home and live a peaceful life, pretending that nothing ever happened. But can you really forget everything you've seen here?"

"I've given it a lot of thought," said Serge.

"So? What've you decided to do?"

"I've decided that I am not returning yet." Serge stood to his feet.

Kid managed to hide a smile that was about to peek through.

"I doubt Lynx will give up," he continued. "Besides, I need to know what exactly happened that brought me into this world."

"I see," she replied as she screamed joy in her heart. Maintaining an indifferent expression, however, she continued, "Then I'll stick around with you a little longer. I don't know what happened ten years ago, but it looks like Viper's mob has got something to do with it."

"I realize that."

"So let's hunt them down together!" She smacked an elated slap on Serge's arm. "Besides, I need to bash up that Lynx bastard and get me hands on the Frozen Flame!"

Kid surprised herself for not getting agitated at the mere mention of Lynx, like she would have under normal circumstances. She even put on a smile as she walked to her bed and picked up her clothes. 

Kid turned to glare at Serge who returned a hopelessly baffled stare. 

Surrendering with a sigh, she asked, "You're not watching me change, are you?"

His face flushed an instant rosy red. His eyes fell upon Kid's clothes, scanned Kid from head to toe and then shot aimless, embarrassed glances about the room. With no word of apology, he bolted towards the door but tripped over a stubbornly misaligned wooden plank on the floor, much to Kid's surprise and delight. As Kid raised an eyebrow and awaited more comedy to unfold, Serge staggered several steps before he slammed clumsily against the door frame and brought dust that had gathered atop the door frame sprinkling down on his bandana. Serge grimaced, coughed and screamed beneath his breath as he trampled out of the room.

"And go get Leena!" she yelled out at him. "I'll meet you two at the village tavern!"

Kid shook her head in surrender at the daft teammate. But she smiled at his innocence and noted the reason that she could stand upright this morning was thanks to this daft teammate of hers.

Orlha's Bar prided itself as the only tavern in Guldove. It offered its customers a wide variety of local delicacies as well as a fine, but limited selection of wine. It boasted no specialties or famous chefs, but it earned its reputation offering affordable, clean lodging as part of its wide range of services. Admittedly, one of the compelling reasons for the bar's success was the owner herself. Run by a strong, stout but attractive young lady named Orlha, one of the humans living in harmony with the demi-humans in the village, she was the boss, the cook, the waitress, the cleaner, the men's dreams and the troublemakers' worst nightmares. 

The tavern's customers came from all over the archipelago--demi-humans from Marbule, villagers from Arni, explorers, adventurers and very occasionally fairies from the Water Dragon Isle and the Beebas from the Hydra Marshes. With some insistent and shameless advertising from shrewd ferrymen at Termina desperate for taxi business, the bar did get customers from the mainland of Zenan. Most of the customers didn't mean to feast their stomachs as much as they did to feast their eyes. And the common advertising gimmick used, was not the food, the drinks or the lodging, but the promise of "being waited on by a beautiful lady." Those who realized they fell for the twist of words came to enjoy the food nonetheless, but others who earnestly came hoping for more came disappointed.

Like any other structure in this village, canvas sheets of gray, fastened to wooden poles, wrapped the tavern and formed its walls and roof. Large wooden wheels served as tables and crates as seats was all of the simple design for the tavern's interiors. On any day, the seats nearest to the counter were those most quickly snapped up by those eager to catch a glimpse at the charismatic owner.

Kid entered the crowded tavern. As she walked to the table where her friends waited, her thieving eyes inspected all things moving, standing and especially those sitting quietly alone and trying to look inconspicuous. A demi-human drunk. A Beeba sipping at his ale and humming a low tune. A man griping about his woes. A woman laughing noisily at the top of her voice. When she felt comfortable that it was a friendly ambience, Kid sat, one knee folded to her chest. 

Orlha came over to take orders.

"Good afternoon," the waitress greeted Kid. "Your friends decided to wait for you before making orders. What might the three of you like to have?"

"Give us three lunches and rations for two days," Kid replied rowdily.

"Lunch will be served in a while," the all-in-one waitress said. She walked back to the counter and started preparing the meal.

"What are the plans after lunch?" Leena asked. "Are we returning to... Termina?"

"Let us first pay our thanks to the village shaman," suggested Serge. "She stood by Kid for the whole of yesterday."

"The shaman?" Kid asked, surprised. She recalled nothing of a shaman.

"She prayed and healed you with magic," Serge explained.

Kid grunted. "Now I'm indebted again," she sulked.

"It is only--"

"Yes, I know," Kid interrupted Serge. "It's only polite. But after that, we have a whole day ahead of us. We must return to Termina." Then, she bent towards their center of the table and hissed, "But since we've flipped Viper Manor's arse's side up, that bloke would sure be on his feet right now. Just need to watch out sixes."

While Serge's eyes rolled up in thought, Leena nodded.

"There are now two worlds," Serge wondered, his shoulders sagging. "Do you both think there is a Lynx in my world?"

"Have you seen him before?" asked Kid.

"No."

"That bastard hounds you. If you've never met him, then obviously he's _bloody _dead as hell," Kid explained quickly.

Serge nodded his head at what Kid thought was an obvious logical deduction. Lynx was after Serge in this world. That meant that he had to be after Serge in his world. If not, he had to be dead. The _smartsness _of the deduction she conjured up brought a conceited smile to her face. 

"But until Lynx in this world is dead, I am not giving up on taking his wretched life!" Kid continued.

"It is confusing, isn't it?" Leena said.

"What about?" Kid asked, eager to throw light onto any more difficult questions.

"We keep talking about this world, that world; my world, your world."

"I suggest we name them," said Serge. "I call my world the _Home World_, and this world _Another World._"

Kid's brows furrowed. "Why can we not call this world Home, and yours Another? This world is belongs to Leena and me you bloke!" Kid stood up and smacked Serge on his head.

Serge grimaced.

Leena giggled, before she straightened and said, "But I have to agree with Serge. Besides, all this that is happening--the split worlds, Lynx, everything--revolves around Serge. It seems as if we are all fated to meet him. Even Serge could use _your_ Astral Amulet to journey across the two worlds..."

"Two against one," said Serge with a smile. "But it is a chilling thought. Do you really know nothing of the Amulet's power, Kid?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," she replied truthfully. "Sis gave it to me some time ago. She never told me what good it was for, except good luck."

"But it's settled then," said Serge. "_Home World_ and _Another World_."

"Whatever," Kid resigned with a fling of her arm.

Orlha walked over, served the sweet-smelling lunch in bowls, and served the rations wrapped in leaves on the table. As soon as they settled the bill, Kid began shoving food into her mouth. She hadn't had a bite for two days and the constant growl in her tummy had become unbearable at the sight of the mouth-watering delight. She groaned in satisfaction as the salted peas and salted grilled meat tantalized her taste buds. The simple pleasure of munching at food erupted within her a feeling of satisfaction, a feeling that she had always relished after she had been in the wild for too long. 

"Enjoy yourselves," Orlha said politely before she walked back to her counter.

Serge's and Leena's eyes flicked around the tavern embarrassingly, while Kid's mannerism and unrestrained groans invited the stares of the customers in the tavern. 

But to Kid, lunch was marvelous. She gobbled up the baked potatoes, stewed meat and the perfectly fried omelets and left not even a drop of oil behind. If there was anything better to go with these heavenly delicacies, it would be a bottle's worth of cold beer flushing down her throat. But alas, cash was limited and time was crucial now to be indulging in alcoholic pleasures. At this moment, a mug of cold water sufficed.

"What is it about this Lavos?" Serge asked with a tone serious, as Kid finished up the last slice of meat from her bowl. "A god of darkness that knows only of consuming, devouring and destruction?"

Kid chewed, swallowed, drew a breath and exhaled. She stared Serge at his eyes that looked serious but anxious. His brows were furrowed and his young forehead wrinkled in fret. His hands were on the table, his fingers interlocked. He had the bearing of a criminal interrogator who tried to pry open his prisoner's mind for answers, even if he didn't have the looks. And he hadn't had a bite, Kid noticed.

"You sure you want to hear?" she said, picking her teeth with a finger.

"I'm ready," said Serge.

"Are you so very sure?"

"Yes, I am."

"Okay." 

As Serge and Leena waited, Kid began to feel nervous, perhaps more than Serge was. She had never told stories before and had never attempted to. A story is worth a thousand words, perhaps more. Unlike girls of her age who loved to chatter and prattle, she rarely went beyond a few hundred in a day. In her line of work as a thief, she refrained from speaking more than was needed, for another word spoken was another part of her—feelings, personality and even secrets--put under the light, put under scrutiny. To tell a story to someone was to her equivalent to stripping herself bare and leaving her defenseless to vicious stabs.

She hesitated for a moment. Then she poured. "This story tells the journey Sis made with two of her good friends, so I hope she won't mind me retelling it. It seems that the goal of Sis's journey was to defeat Lavos and bring peace to the world. As I grew up, the story began to sound so unbelievable that I began to imagine it as a children's story that Sis made up. I never told Sis about how I really felt, because Sis told the story over and over again only to me. She treated me special, so I couldn't bear to tell her. Not to mention each time she told the story, she told it with tears. For many years, I was sure the story ain't true; not until two days ago, when the sage mentioned Lavos."

That was the longest uninterrupted speech she had made in the last five years.

"This story is about your sister?" Serge asked.

"Sis," Kid corrected. "And her two other friends whom she mentioned were the princess of Guardia, and her best friend who lived in Truce."

"Truce?" Leena asked. "Where is that?"

"It is a small village on the mainland," Kid explained. "In the story, the three of them were moving back and forth through time, changing the flow of history." 

"Time journeying?" asked Serge. "Wasn't that how the sage arrived at Viper's library?"

"Time traveling," said Kid. "Although Sis and her friends traveled to various eras in time, their story began before the turn of the millenium, in 1000AD, five years before Guardia fell to Porre. When Sis first told me the story, Guardia had already fallen and Porre was in power. The story goes like this."

Kid cleared her throat as Serge adjusted himself on his seat and listened attentively. 

"Once upon a time..."

"Once upon a time?" Leena giggled.

"Oi!" Kid joked. "That's how they always start, don't they?"

"Yes, right," Leena teased with a chuckle. "A long, long time ago, in a far, far away land, you could even begin. How appropriate that would be!"

Kid smiled.

"Let's get on with story," urged Serge who now seemed tense and impatient.

Kid shook her head in surrender.

"Right, then," she said. "This is how the story goes..."

The three Heroes of Time, who least expected themselves to be, were but three teenagers chosen by destiny. Before the turn of the millennium in the year 1000AD, the three teenagers stumbled upon a portal that led from a time period of theirs to another time period. An encounter in that age led to another, and they found themselves journeying back and forth through the river of time.

They found their way to the year 2300AD and found that a post-apocalyptic future awaited their awe. The earth was a barren wasteland of crumbled structures, of swampy muck and of pungent skeletons of humans and animals. The sky had no azure blue to speak of, and was constantly cloaked in the darkness of dust, ash and clouds. Lightning that ripped through the heavens in sheets of ashen white provided no more life to the lifeless earth than would the enduring darkness. Rains that beat on the lands and one's skin were like gale, cold and painful. Chill winds dragged toxic through the air, as currents washed the same through the vast seas and crashed them up onto shores.

In that same year, the three Heroes came across several archives of the future recorded in a format they called 'videos.' The videos revealed the chilling truth of an event that had set the course of the planet to everlasting death. Recorded in the peak of human civilization in 1999AD, it replayed moving images of an unidentified being that spanned several continents wide surfaced on the face of the earth, ripping a large hole on the planet that swallowed the seas. The massive, unearthly beast was of a crimson red shell, spiky like that of a porcupine, but fiery like that of the flaming sun. Upon the being's ascent into full view, it discharged trickles and threads of flames from its monolithic shell that together formed fountains of searing fire over the earth's surface. The huge discharges fell onto earth, and their flames licked and consumed the lands. In no less than two years, ash wrapped the earth and cast its lands into darkness. Rains fell and the fires that had burned off the fuel from the earth were doused, leaving behind an immense spectacle of devastation. The earth was doomed to the darkness and was left to wither and rot in its own destruction for the next three hundred years and perhaps countless of years to come.

Determined to avert that future, the three Heroes sought to defeat the creature that would bring destruction onto their home planet. They knew they had been gifted what the average man had not--the ability to move back and forth through time, and the ability to change and redirect, at will, the delicate flow of history. They understood that if they defeated the creature before it woke, the future as they knew would be altered. Thus, the three Heroes journeyed to the epochs in time to learn of this mighty creature that must be destroyed. 

'La' was the ancient word for fire and 'vos' the word for huge. Lavos first descended from the heavens unto earth sixty-five million years ago, when the kingdoms of cold-blooded reptilian creatures ruled the earth in vast numbers, and when humans still existed as mere apes, humans' evolutionary ancestors. Lavos descent caused catastrophe and destruction on a global scale, and sent the lands of the earth blanketed in ash, cloud and soon the cold of the arctic. The ash that refused to settle sent temperatures plunging over the next millennium and wiped out the cold-blooded reptilians rulers from the face of the earth. The global climatic change was the dawn of a bitter ice age that was to last for the next sixty-five million years, as Lavos silently hibernated within earth and slowly consumed its resources.

Some three million years ago, the timid apes came into first contact with Lavos. This contact sparked a mutation in the genetic composition of the apes that spread like a malignant disease down the following generations of apes. Over the next three million years, as the size of their brains ballooned to three times their original, and so did their intelligence.

In the ice age twelve thousand years ago, in 12000BC, when man reached his evolutionary peak, so did his civilization. He worshipped the mighty Lavos as if he worshipped a god. But he tapped into and harnessed the power of Lavos that was to him unlimited source of magic. With magic of such at his disposable, he dreamed and built machines of the extraordinary, machines that floated defiantly against the forces of nature, machines that brought light in times of darkness and machines that provided warmth in such bitter cold. The great floating kingdom of Zeal was soon envisioned and then realized. Its leaders, however, was not content. They yearned for more power, for more magic, and they thus constructed the Ocean Palace, just so that they could reach closer to Lavos. 

In the Ocean Palace, the leaders of Zeal ambitiously constructed the Mammon Machine, the largest machine ever built then to tap more from their unlimited source of power. The machine failed. It disturbed and woke Lavos from its restful sleep. As if displeased, the mammoth creature rose from beneath the grounds and shot forth the burning flames from its crimson shell. The flames that tore through Zeal sent the floating kingdom crashing down onto the earth. And the flames that fried the lands melted the ice. Lavos' first awakening brought about the end of the long-lasting ice age, just as it sent the humans plunging back down to humble beginnings.

Four hundred years ago, in 600AD, after the kingdom of Zeal had been written into the pages of innumerable baseless legends, humans had recovered from their fall but found themselves locked in war with the race of the demi-humans. The leader of the demi-humans was, ironically, a human who sought to defeat Lavos with his own hands. He attempted to summon the mighty Lavos to his presence but his attempt failed.

The course of the planet's history inevitably led to 1999AD, the second peak of human civilization, and also the second awakening of Lavos. After it rained fire onto the planet, Lavos left and departed into the heavens beyond, in search of another planet to consume, to devour and to destroy. As the Heroes had witnessed in 2300AD, the attack left the earth scorched and dying.

Lending the strength of their friends across the epochs of time, the three Heroes faced the mighty Lavos in battle in the year 1999AD, at the precise moment before it unleashed its devastation. After a long arduous battle, they defeated Lavos as they had set out to do. As a result, that which had come to pass no longer did. The future in 2300AD that once bleakly manifested the ugly face of Lavo's devastation was altered to a future that saw the light of day. The civilization of humans continued on the new temporal vector of time unimpeded, blissfully unaware of what their home should have become but did not.

The Heroes' undying resolve had saved humanity from Lavos, the bringer of darkness. But their meddling with history was like the hand of an untrained tailor who had ripped the fabric of time and entangled its delicate threads. Their heroic actions that had ended one crisis were only the prelude to another.

Kid breathed relief. She had tripped over syllables, over words and over sentences, like how an untrained thief had tripped over objects during a raid in the night. She scraped through the entire story nonetheless and praised herself for having told it in a way understandable. But the story that had taken half of an hour and several thousand words to compose had left Kid dry at her lips as much as it did in her mind. Perspiration soaked her blouse and dripped from her forehead. Even her jaws felt sore, like untrained muscles that strained after vigorous exertion. As a reward to herself, she grabbed Serge's mug on the table and gulped the cold water. 

"A prelude to a crisis," Serge mumbled, as he offered Kid a hanky from his pocket.

"That is what Sis always said," Kid said, wiping her neck with Serge's hanky delightfully. "By changing the future, they could have changed even the past."

"But how is it that Lynx carry the burden of Lavos? How is it that even I carry the burden of such a creature? As a duty to mankind, must I defeat it? Or am I just made to know what it has done and sit around and wait for your Sis to defeat it in 1999AD?" grumbled Serge resentfully. His neck muscles clearly stiffened as he uttered each word. His eyes were distant and unfocused. "Why me?" he ended with a strained tone.

"Oi," said Kid. "Nothing we can do about Lavos's story now. Best not to think too much about it."

"Kid is right," said Leena. With a deep breath, she said, "But one thing is for certain. Both your stories are more intertwined than I--we could have imagined."

"Why do you say that?" Kid asked, sensing a wistful tone.

Leena smiled. "Oh, no reason in particular. I just felt the implications of the time traveling and the split worlds are aplenty; so much so it becomes rather confusing, don't you think? And I wonder, is there a Kid in Serge's _Home World_?"

"Oh, there will be," Kid responded with thought.

"How can you be so sure?" asked Leena, puzzled.

"I just know it," Kid replied. "But it hell ain't important. Lynx in Serge's _Home World_ is likely to be dead. If he's dead, _Home _Kid will have no reason to travel south to El Nido and bump into you, unless you look for her intentionally. But then again, there's really no need to look for her, is there?" Kid added as a quick afterthought. 

Kid was thankful that the _Home_ Kid had not met up with Serge before she did, and that there was little chance _Home_ Kid would come close to him at all. Yet, she felt a tense bitterness chewing away at her skin and making her feel uncomfortable, even hurtful. The uncertainty seemed like a rigged dice thrown but one that still had the chance of landing with the number 'two' face-up and not the number 'one,' if she were careless. She didn't know why she felt that way, as if she were jealous of her other self who she seemed to have deemed her enemy. She asked herself question after another that she realized soon piled into a heap. But she had the knack for organizing stray thoughts in her mind, packaging the less important into neat boxes and shipping them away from view. Quickly, she cleared her mind for crucial matters.

"We can't rush answers," said Kid composedly. "We'll look for them, and they'll come to us, I'm pretty sure. I'll bet you a roast snail on that."

Leena made a face and regarded her food with disgust.

"How about a roast Beachbum?" Kid joked, wiping sweat from her forehead with Serge's hanky.

"But you are right, Kid," Serge conceded out of the blue. "Let us finish up our lunch and head over to the shaman's."

Leena pointed a thumb at Serge and said to Kid with a giggle, "No need to bet. There's one here already."

Kid had felt uncomfortable long before she entered the canvas shrine set up at the end of the village. These places of religion never irked her as much as the people who dwelled within did. They loved to preach grand philosophies of life, death and destiny. She detested the double-standard often taken by these people who insisted destiny controlled their lives, and who also insisted that destiny may be made to bend to one's will, should they so desire. All these were to her heaps of rubbish made up and glorified by the religious leaders who didn't count the number of people their granted salvation, but the chests of gold pieces they got in return. There were the charitable temples and churches that gave away donations and the loot she stole from the rich to the poor. But such organizations that she had a great deal of respect for were far and few between.

This Divine Dragon Shrine irked her not because of the people who lived within, but the presentation of its interiors. The overdone display of faith packed into the little canvas tent gave her the shudders. The acrid smell of burning incense and the reddish ambience were too much of a discomfort for her. A raised circular pedestal supported the six, small statues of dragons aligned at the corners of a hexagon; an alignment that was to her absurd configurations made up in the past by some religious fanatic who had too much time to spare. Lit candles circled the pedestal, casting more gloom than they did cast relief. As if the sweltering heat of the noon sun weren't enough, these candles cooked the shrine's interiors, stuffing the room with stale, stinging air.

And if not for the help the shaman rendered to her during her illness, she would be wondering what was with the two ladies who sat with their eyes closed, idling their time away in the heat when they could have just slept, or get up on their feet and do some useful work. 

"Thank you for your assistance yesterday," Serge said to the young shaman Steena, respectfully. 

"Well, thank you, shaman Steena," Kid said in courtesy.

Steena, a young shaman in her twenties dressed in red, torn and stitched robes, opened her eyes and regarded Kid with a warm smile. The other shaman, the religious chief Direa of Guldove, who seemed at least sixty years of age, opened her weary eyes and glanced at the visitors. Unlike the younger shaman, she wore a frayed robe of gray and a face blemished by the many lines of age.

"I see that you have saved your friend," the chief said, her voice guttural and barely audible. "I apologize for not being able to attend to you personally, young lady," the chief said slowly to Kid. 

Kid remained silent to control an oncoming sneeze. The smell of the burning incense tickled her nose. 

"We have something of importance recently stolen from us," the chief continued. "I have been busy conducting investigations, none of which have led to anything fruitful."

"Stolen?" Leena asked. 

"To be honest, the Dragon Tear has been taken away by an assailant," the young lady shaman reported. "From what we have gathered, it is likely that the Dragon Tear has been shipped out of Guldove. Beyond that, we know nothing."

"The Dragon Tear?" asked Serge.

"It is a one-of-a-kind orb that our ancestors received from the Dragonians," explained the shaman, "before the last of them were driven to extinction by the mainland humans in Termina. We have been instructed not to let the Dragon Tear fall into evil hands. And we are currently pursuing the matter with great urgency."

"An orb?" Serge asked as he cast curious glances at Kid and Leena, who both returned a puzzled look. "I think we might have seen it before. Is it a blue glimmering orb that rests in a flame-like shell?"

"Where have you have seen it?" asked the young shaman, her lips parted in surprise. "A man named Lynx and another named General Viper have it in their hands."

The young shaman and the chief exchanged glances.

"What is it they desire with the Dragon Tear?" the young shaman wondered aloud.

"If they plan to activate the ancient ruin..." the chief frowned. "The Sacrament of the Souls. If they plan to activate the Sacrament of the Souls in Fort Dragonia, I dread to think what will happen."

The young shaman furrowed her brows in deep thought. "But they cannot enter. Mount Pyre--the Ring of Death--encircles Fort Dragonia. They cannot possibly approach Mount Pyre, let alone get past the fiery lava within!"

"If they can steal the Dragon Tear from us, they might have already determined how to reach Fort Dragonia safely," the chief said grimly,

"What is this Sacrament of the Souls?" Serge asked.

The young shaman shook her head. "We regret to say that not even we know. We only know that as the name suggests, the Sacrament of the Souls is a ritual on the living spirit once held by the Dragonians. Its powers are beyond our comprehension. If this man, Lynx, desires to exploit the powers for his own evil gains..."

Unable to control any longer, Kid sneezed and stole attention to her. Then, she spoke, snuffling, "Bastard! What in the blazes is he up to? First, he wants the Frozen Flame, now he takes the Dragon Tear."

"Did you say the Frozen Flame, young lady?" the chief asked in startle. "This Lynx is even after the Frozen Flame?"

"Well, you heard me right, mom," said Kid, sniffing. "This bastard's after everything darned thing."

Again, the young shaman and the chief exchanged glances. Then, the young shaman began to hum verses with her sweet voice, verses that seemed to sound like an ancient oral lore:

_Be very careful when_

_You stare into the flame..._

_For the flame will also_

_Stare back at you._

_It will either _

_Transform you into a different being..._

_Or burn you into ashes._

"There is also a phrase that refers to the evil sealed away by the Six Dragons. This phrase follows, 'the evil flame that sought to engulf the world.' The evil Flame must not be in the hands of any humans," the shaman ended grimly. 

"Would you know how to get past Mount Pyre to Fort Dragonia?" asked Serge.

"No living race in El Nido has ever tried," the young shaman said dryly, "except for a few select Dragonians. Only their thick scales were able to withstand its fiery blazes. No man can approach its entrance without melting in its heat."

Kid rubbed her nose incessantly while she pondered over the pieces laid before her, and over the best move to take. She charted scenarios and stringed sequence of events. And as the shaman and the chief continued with all the unimpressive rhetoric and none of the concrete action, she studied in her mind the best possibility of sneaking into Viper's ships and entering Fort Dragonia disguised as his guards, undetected. That would save them from melting in the heat of Mount Pyre if Lynx could transport them in safely with his magic or his tricks up his sleeves. That was only possible, however, if the Viper had not yet departed. 

Kid interrupted the seemingly endless conversation, "Chief, shaman, I am grateful for the help and all, but we have to get going. Serge, this is no longer just our problem. If we don't stop these buggers now, they're going to blow some major hell around here!"

"What do you plan to do?" Leena asked.

"We'll take a ride to Termina. If Viper hasn't left for Fort Dragonia, we'll hitch a ride from there. Otherwise, we will sail down to Mount Pyre on our own and investigate the situation there."

"Then, we shall take our leave now, chief, shaman," said Serge.

"Before you leave, I have a favor to ask of you," said the shaman.

"What may it be?" asked Serge.

"If you ever find the Dragon Tear, we would like to ask that it be returned to us."

"I will," said Serge with a nod.

"Please be careful," said the chief, as Kid left the shrine eagerly. "I pray that your journey be blessed by the guidance of the Six Dragon Gods."

Kid groaned in disgust and disdain. She had probably seen more than these sheltered nuns. In any case, she was sure she could handle danger, vice and treachery more than they could. She had no doubt she would sail smoothly to Termina and to the end of her journey.

Kid did not need even one god, let alone all six of them.


	14. Book 2 Chapter 4 A Meeting with the Herm...

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**Book 2**

**4   A Meeting with the Hermit**

lenn knocked softly on the door, through which a voice granted him permission to enter. 

         He opened the door into a spacious room brimming with royal ambiance. Curtains of white lace and of flowered embroidery elaborated the windows decorated with grills, patterned with gold roses flourishing upon curly stalks. Striking rays of the raging morning sun poured its rays through the windows upon a velvet red that carpeted the flooring. Paintings of nature hung from the four walls, like windows that opened and looked into a world of nature, a world of inner peace. A layered cornice adorned the four walls of the room, set against a ceiling plain. From alcoves in the pillars plants sprouted, scenting the royal chamber a subtle tinge of freshness. In a corner of the room a double bed rested, upon which cozy sheets of warm beige and innocent white laid neatly made. At another corner a dressing table stood proudly, at which its master sat and dolled, assisted by her chambermaids.

         Lady Riddel returned a hairbrush to its rightful place in the drawer, stood and excused her chambermaids. They whispered words of concern, hugged each other forlornly. Reluctantly, they pulled themselves from each other, left the room and closed the doors behind them.

         As Lady Riddel turned to face him, Glenn lowered his head in respect.

         "Dispense with the formalities," said the Lady whose tone was no order but gentle and soothing to his ears.

         "Yes, Lady Riddel," he said, dropping the formal greets and well-wishes for the princess of El Nido.

         "When we are alone, we shall be as friends like we have always been," said Lady Riddel.

         "Yes, Lady Riddel," he said again. His tone remained stiff.

         "Has daddy left?" she asked.

         "Yes, he has. They have departed before first light. I have notified him that the Lady would follow shortly in the morning. Only the two--four of us, including your two chambermaids remain."

         "The manor is now empty, isn't it? In the end, I could do nothing more than watch evil wrest power from daddy's hands," said the Lady sorrowfully, as she walked over to the window. She rested her hands on the window sill and gazed out.

         Her hair of violet blue glistened against the pouring light like smooth silk, silk that flowed down to her shoulders and over them, without creases, without folds. A tiara of polished gold and diamonds crowned her head, each diamond like morning dew that sparkled with colors of the rainbow. Dressed in a gown of white, she looked like the angel who had just descended from the heavens, showered by the rays of the sun. She was the angel who lived in Glenn's heart, the angel beautiful and alluring but distant and untouchable.

         "You have done what you could, Lady Riddel," said Glenn.

         "Yet, I have achieved nothing," said the sorrowful angel. "I dread to think what will happen next. The Ring of Death bars those who seek to enter as effectively as those who seek to leave. The Dragoons of a hundred years old have been led willingly into a trap. If"--she hesitated--"If only Dario was here..."

         Glenn detected a change in her voice, a crack. Lady Riddel kept her back to him and kept silent. He heard a sniff and knew she must be in tears. Yet, she never flinched, never raised a hand to her face to wipe what he imagined to be endless tears flowing down her cheeks. He stood far from her on the watch. He feared she would cave, but his feet found little courage to take even a step forward. For many times he had tried to bridge the distance between them under such circumstances, but for that many times she had rejected support. Her refusal was her will and her strength that made his concern look like weakness. 

         Finally, he hauled his foot forward. His boot rang in the silence.

         "Glenn," she said instantly, her voice that was hoarse and tearful was an order.

         He caved, retreated, and never considered making another approach.

         His brother, Dario, the fourteenth Grandmaster of the Acacia Dragoons, had passed away in the line of duty three years ago. For three years, he saw Lady Riddel suffer the loss of her dearest. She shed no tears before a person, but he knew she shed them on her pillows from dusk through till dawn. She had erected a fortress around her, and disallowed anyone near her fragile heart, to touch it and break it. The closest he could be to her moments of despondence was moments such as now, when he was allowed to hear but not allowed to speak. 

         Glenn shed no tears either. It was thirteen years ago when his father died in the line of duty, and his mother died of sickness shortly after. He broke down in his brother's arms, then. He questioned Dario for his parents' departure, but his brother could provide no more answers than words of love, concern and support in which Glenn had found no solace. His parents' death were double blows that had left Glenn devastated, disillusioned. His heart sapped dry had turned into the harsh desert, monotonous and unfeeling. The tears that flowed thirteen years ago had dried up like an oasis had parched. 

         When news of his brother's disappearance traveled to his ears, Glenn was shocked. When his body was discovered, Glenn was numbed. During the wake that lasted three days, he was blank, lost and confused. He was not sad as much as he was discontent. And he pinned blame silently on the Deva Karsh. 

         "How's Karsh?" Lady Riddel asked suddenly, as if she read his thoughts. Her voice had cleared, but she kept her back to Glenn. 

         "What do you mean?"

         "Is he, too, following daddy's orders blindly? Has he not made any effort to talk daddy out of this?"

         "I know none of his endeavors to dissuade the general. What he does concerns me not."

         "Glenn, he may have done Dario a disservice. But he still is a Deva of the Acacia Dragoons, the more influential of Devas after Dario. Even if daddy no longer consults the Council of Devas, I expect he would initiate a discussion with daddy."

         "Disservice is an understatement, Lady Riddel. He has murdered my brother, your prince." 

         "We never had proof," she said softly.

         "Aren't his feelings for you and his silence on the matter not proof enough?"

         Lady Riddel kept silent. Glenn decided to change the topic.

         "Even if Karsh had spoken to the general, is it not obvious that he failed to dissuade him?"

         "Glenn," said Lady Riddel sternly, "you speak as if you have no interest in the affairs of the dragoons!"

         "Lady Riddel!" Glenn gasped, but fell short of speaking his heart, of speaking of the following. 

         He was but a lowly-ranked private who spends most of his time in quarters feeding on the words of jealousy of my own section mates. When the Lady summoned his presence, they said he curry favor the general's daughter. When the Lady supposed they would like her to speak up for them, they said the general's daughter was embroiled a shameful affair with her lover's younger brother and could not care less if the dragoons was taken over by Lynx. They said things that they eventually concluded to be true. Yet, his words were like feathers that carried no weight, like thin air that fell on deaf ears.

         An awkward silence hung low in the room as Glenn drew a breath. Even as such thoughts drifted in his mind, he found no bitterness he could hold against those who despised him. As he had wished, the desert of his heart kept these feelings effectively at bay.

         "Please accept my apologies, Glenn," said Lady Riddel ruefully. "My tone has been harsh. We may be sibling-in-laws, but that was inexcusable behavior."

         That she regarded him as a sibling-in-law demonstrated her undying love for his brother. It was the love that the tied and bound Dario and Riddel both, even if death had done them part; it was the love that stirred a sand whirl of discomfort in Glenn's heart, even if it had long turned into a desert. In that barren land that was harsh and unforgiving to the living, Riddel was like a cactus that thrived and matured with each day. Each day he left it unattended, it planted itself firmer into his heart. Each time he had tried to uproot the stubborn growth, he found himself hurt by its prickly thorns. He endured the emotional hurt just as he endured verbal ones hurled at him by his section mates, but he found no will to amputate that which had become part of him. Perhaps, he once told himself, he even wanted her to be there.

         "You've been through too much," said Glenn. "It is only human."

         Lady Riddel tipped her head back and looked up in ponder. Her shoulders rose with a deep breath, and sagged again with a soft sigh.

         "I wish those days would return, days without worries, without troubles. Do you recall when the four of us--Dario, Karsh, you and I--would gather outside the weapon smith in Termina? We were such great friends, great buddies, then."

         "Most certainly I do. I even recall that day you gave us the bellflowers you plucked from Fossil Valley."

         "That was when it started, wasn't it? Your brother and I..."

         Glenn turned his head to aside, wondering why his mouth had not kept itself faithfully shut. 

         "I was moved by his words when he told me not to walk the valley alone, and that he must accompany me the next time. Perhaps before that I already had feelings for him. That day he opened my heart. And till today, I can never forget his earnest, frank and sometimes humorous self. Thinking of him makes me laugh, makes me cry," she sniffed. "How I miss him so..."

         Glenn was envious of his brother, but unlike Karsh, he was not jealous. Dario had himself the looks, the personality, the spouse, the career in the dragoons as a Grandmaster, and everything that a great man could ask for. The stars seemed to shine on him, the Gods smile. He walked a path to a perfect future, but a path possibly cut short by an unscrupulous hand. Even if charges had not been formally brought against Karsh for the lack of evidence beyond doubt, Glenn was quite certain he was the murderer.

         "My apologies," said Lady Riddel. "I am boring you, am I not?"

         "Not at all," he assured.

         "Let us return to serious matters." 

         "Yes."

         "It has been several days since I asked of you. What have you learnt of Porre thus far?"

         "Rumor says Porre is on their way to El Nido. A vessel is shipping in the first company for the occupation, their full armory in the days ahead."

         "When will the first company arrive?" asked Lady Riddel, her tone now serious.

         "Tomorrow night at the earliest."

         Lady Riddel remained silent with her back to Glenn, unwavering in her poise. After a moment, she spoke, "Daddy needs a diplomat."

         "Lady Riddel!" Glenn startled. "Surely, you are not thinking...! The first company sends no decision makers. They will only have you locked away till their commanders arrive."

         "It is foolish, Glenn, I know," Lady Riddel conceded. "But I have thought about for a long while now." 

         "Indeed, you have! And you could have discussed it with me, as a friend, Lady Riddel, if not as your guard. Do you not understand how little chance you will have at this stab in the dark?"

         "The chance may be small if I did what I intend to do, but there will be none if I did not. It is the least I can do for the dragoons."

         "But I can and will not allow that!" Glenn protested.

         "I know you mean well, but it is my decision to stay and engage with Porre, a decision that I will uphold. They would not dare deal harm unto me, as long as I maintain daddy has not disappeared and keep his whereabouts in secret. I just had my two chambermaids pack and return to their families in Termina. But I still would require your assistance. Could you please help, Glenn? As a friend, if not as a dragoon knight. Please?"

         She asked with a genteel, yet, heartfelt earnestness that was difficult for Glenn, for perhaps any man, to refuse. Rarely Riddel used her angelic charms to such extents, but if she did, the matter must be grave.

         "Yes, my Lady," said Glenn reluctantly. His lips agreed as if they were put under a spell. "What is it that you wish of me to do?"

         "Thank you," said Lady Riddel.

         As she spelled her requests, Glenn watched her at her back and her darkened silhouette against the glaring backdrop of the morning sky. He wondered if he made a terrible mistake in agreeing to offer assistance, for it meant agreeing to leave her in the manor until Porre's inevitable arrival. In doing so, he would gift her to the enemy with his own hands, an action that would even end in her death; and disobey orders from the general, treason punishable by his own. 

         Yet, when Lady Riddel finished, Glenn left with a promise that he would honor his word as a knight--a mindless knight--would.

Only two days ago, Termina orchestrated a lively blend of music and paraded packed streets as the entire community prepared itself for the celebrations of the Viper Festival, Termina's 100th anniversary. Today, however, the entire town had dampened into a silent, solemn mood with the festival only more than a week away. The sweltering afternoon sun battered its fiery rays down onto the streets, from which heat rose and distorted through its wavy mirages far ends of the town. Garlands of trampled petals littered the walkways and stayed stagnant beneath the stale, windless atmosphere. The crowds of people stayed cooped within their homes in the early afternoon, as did the children against their wishes, against their nature. Even the port, the trading lifeline between El Nido and the greater continents beyond, seemed to have ceased operations. 

         Heat cooked in his body and his feet as Glenn strode the long, quiet streets of Termina. The fiery overhead sun wrung perspiration from him, like hands that wrung a cloth dry. His leather tunic within his armor leaked, like water that condensed and dripped off a cold mug. The round, frayed collar of his tunic stung his neck and left it red and sore. With the rest of the Acacia Dragoons now tucked out of sight in Fort Dragonia, he could well shed his bulky, red armor that was the pride and honor he once sought, much like his brother did. But what pride and what honor, he often asked himself. He wielded no Einlanzer. He remained an incompetent foot soldier. He was the laughing-stock of all his mates and buddy to no friend willing, with the exception of Lady Riddel. The undecorated armor had become his prison. Yet, he walked defiantly in full uniform under the intense glare, stubborn, undeterred.

         Glenn trudged with his ringing boots towards the shrine of Termina, where the spirits of his father and brother laid beneath a glorified monument, beneath a sword that would one day be in the hands of a worthy Grandmaster. He often wondered, when the time came, if he would be one who watched the crowds roar in his name, or if he would be one in the crowds who roared in another's.

         At the Einlanzer of metal silver Glenn knelt and watched its blades glistened and cast streaks of light of rainbow spectrums on the sandy ground. As his knees touched ground, the heat of singed at them. He endured the pain that was an ant bite in comparison to the pain of dilemma that Lady Riddel had decided to put him through. The dilemma was a furious war against an enemy that sprouted no heads, no hands, and no limbs that he could stick a sword into, an enemy unto which no pain he could inflict. In this war, Lady Riddel declared herself the general. Her words were her army of soldiers, her most powerful weapon. Glenn found himself caught by rushing wave of her army, surging him towards a target unknown. He could summon his strength to march against her army, to return to Lady Riddel to cease her foolish orders. Instead, he found himself seemingly content to be pushed and dragged to wherever her army was headed.

         "Father, brother," he said in his heart. Then, he hesitated. He had much to speak, but did not know where to start: the fate of the dragoons, the manor and the general. Each had their own tale of lengthy explanations, and their own unmistakable path towards their end. Most of all, no courage he found to confess his feelings for Lady Riddel before the grave of his own brother, the beloved of Lady Riddel. His father would certainly turn in his grave if he spoke the slightest sins of betrayal. His father would rise from the ground to strangle him for bringing disrepute to their family.

         "I ask for your blessings," was all he said. 

         Glenn stood and left for the town outskirts.

"You guys need to cross the sea? Then I might think about lending you my boat. With two conditions, Ms. Kid."

         "Huh! With that clunky boat of yours, I don't think we'll survive even a round trip. But I guess this ain't the time to be picky. So, Korcha, what are your conditions?"

         "First, if you ever find the Dragon Tear, give it to me."

         "Why in the bloody hell do you want the Dragon Tear for? It's been in _your_ village for the past few decades!"

         "Well. I've always wanted it, but Chief Direa has her eyes over it..."

         "Oh well. What's your other condition?"

         "The other condition is: o-once all this ruckus is over..." his voice dipped to a soft inaudible mumble.

         "What was that? Quit mumbling and speak up, you bloke!"

         The other voice growled, hesitated and finally spoke, "I want you to be my wife!" 

         "What?"

         Glenn just arrived near the commotion, but from a hundred feet away in the town's silence he had heard the voices, voices that seemed to dispute more than they seemed to negotiate. As he walked towards the shore where frail, wooden sail boats docked, he watched intently a scrawny ferryman conduct the deal with a young, scantily-dressed blonde. Another two stood behind the lady of bold dressing, one of them was a young boy with a red bandana and a double-bladed swallow, the other a young lady in red. 

         Glenn regarded them intently, for the three youths matched the description of the intruders who had so boldly slipped into the royal office of Viper Manor undetected. The incident that was a crime of a stellar scale had left Glenn wondering. Following their plunging escape off the manor balcony, the general had not ordered guards to comb the cliffs behind the manor, and more to Termina for a search. He had not ordered even measures to be put in place for extra security at home. According to Lady Riddel, not only the general had no intention to pursue the matter, he went as far as to say that Lynx supported his decision of inaction. When Glenn had probed further, Lady Riddel had expressed uncertainty and ended gravely, "I fear for the safety of the three, especially of that young man."

         "I said I want you to be my wife!" screamed the ferryman.

         The lady with hair of honey blonde, who dressed as if she didn't, clenched her fists in fury. The other, dressed in a dress in a striking mismatch of red and blue, hid giggles behind her hand. The young man with the red bandana, however, seemed detached, distant.

         "Oi, Korcha!" the blonde-haired lady pointed a finger at him. "Don't mess with me! I'm going to kick your arse so hard you'll kiss the moons!"

         "I'm not joking!" the ferryman said lovingly, his eyes sparkling in the afternoon sun. "To tell you the truth, I, that it..."

         "What?" the lady shouted, rubbed her arms and feigned a shiver, as if from the mushy coldness of his words she felt freezing chill.

         "It was"--the ferryman swallowed--"love at first sight!"

         "You know who I am, don't you?" said Kid, exasperated.

         "I know you're some kind of thief. Don't you worry. I don't care about your past, and I don't want you to feel forced. We can wait until all this fuss is over. So, please..."

         After heaving a sigh, she said, "Okay, understood! But this ain't something I can agree to on a whim. I'll consider it. After I settle the score with Lynx, that is. That's about the best I can promise. I can't guarantee you anything more," she quickly added.

         "Alright," the ferryman said, blissfully abstracted. "That's all I need for now. I'll lend you the boat!"

         This while, Glenn saw it fit to approach.

         "Excuse me, I need a boat," he asked, frank and direct.

         "Are you from the dragoons?" asked the skimpily-dressed lady. "Seen you before at the shrine."

         Glenn's regarded her from head to toe, unimpressed with how little she wore. He grew up in a family that prides itself on its reputable standing in society and had been living in the haven of royalty and conformism. It was only a part of tradition to be properly dressed, not to like a wild animal that wore nothing at all roam about the streets. This lady had broken the precepts of tradition and violated the codes of morality. By her very dressing, she had spoken the words of profanity as if she had spoken them on her own lips. Yet, his unfeeling heart found no emotion appropriate to express his opinion of the matter. Thus, he was not even certain if he admired her courage, or he abhorred the disgrace she was willing to stoop to. He merely felt it appropriate to respect her as he would another person.

         "Yes, ma'am," he said courteously, "I am a knight from the Acacia Dragoons."

         "Don't get all 'ma'am' on me! Kid's my name!" Kid slapped herself on her chest. "That's Serge and Leena."

         "My name is Glenn. Pleased to meet you," Glenn said truthfully. 

         "Heard your dragoons high-tailed out of Viper Manor yesterday. Any truth in that?" Kid asked, just as direct, just as forthright.

         "They've left on an expedition," Glenn said nothing more than necessary. "They will return shortly once the expedition is over."

         "We've heard they have departed for Fort Dragonia," Serge added.

         "Yes," Glenn affirmed regretfully. "I am leaving for Fort Dragonia, too."

         Kid expressed doubt with a curl of her lip. "Why didn't you go with the rest?"

         Glenn hesitated. "I was assigned to task and was delayed."

         "Hey! Hey!" yelled Leena, who hopped to his side and patted him on his armor at his shoulder. "Do you happen to know how one could cross Mount Pyre into Fort Dragonia?"

         Glenn shook his head. "I'm afraid I do not, Miss Leena. But I urge you not to approach Fort Dragonia. Lynx is a man of unfathomable evil."

         Kid growled. "Evil or not, I have a personal problem to settle with that bastard. Serge has his own questions, too. And from what we've heard, Lynx plans to activate the Fort Dragonia with a certain Dragon Tear. If that happens, all hell will break loose, I tell you." 

         "Activate the fort?" said Glenn, baffled. He had heard nothing from Lady Riddel about activating the fort, upon which all hell would break loose, as Kid had explicitly described. 

         "But I don't suppose you'd want to come with us, since you are on their side," concluded Kid, as she strode past Glenn and strode to the wooden boat.

         "You do not understand. I do not side Lynx," said Glenn firmly. "Neither do I approve of the general's actions, for the general has been bewitched."

         "Bewitched, huh?" she turned to Glenn and stared him in the eye.

         "And it would seem I cannot dissuade you from confronting Lynx?" said Glenn.

         "Yes, it would seem so," said Kid with a confident smirk. "How about joining us then?" 

         Glenn pondered for a moment. "If you do not mind a knight who tags along."

         "Then, it looks like we are literally on the same boat!" Leena cheered with two jumps and three claps.

         "But before we head to Fort Dragonia, I would like to pay a visit to a master knight who lives at the Hermit's Hideaway."

         "Master Knight?" asked Serge.

         "When my elder brother and I were younger, he was our guardian," said Glenn. "I have word for him before we head to Fort Dragonia."

         "Fine with me," Kid shrugged. "But let's get our arses moving! We haven't got all day."

         Kid began unwinding the anchor ropes as the group prepared to depart. After Serge and Leena, Glenn hopped on the flimsy two-hulled boat that seemed about to fall apart. Unaccustomed to the poorly engineered buoyancy, the double-hulled tilted so steeply when Glenn boarded that he had to lean forward to tip it back to balance. The wooden planks creaked in protest, Leena screamed in terror. Kid boarded last and boarded swiftly and steadily. She dumped the length rope into the hull and took her seat across Glenn. She leaned back comfortably, crossed her legs but left ample peeking space into her undergarment within, a sight from which Glenn quickly shied. 

         As Serge picked up the oar and paddled the boat away towards the open sea, the ferryman, who seemed to have been conveniently forgotten by all, began screaming for Kid's attention. Glenn stole a glance over his shoulder and saw what was worse than a love-struck girl who reluctantly waved her lover away. He witnessed a clown leap and witnessed a fanatic wave his arms animatedly from the rocky shores. Had Glenn been an ignorant observer, he would have thought he witnessed a demented inmate who had fled the lunatic asylum.

         "Hey!" the ferryman shrilled, his gaze fixed on Kid. "You be careful with yourself from now on. Just remember that your life is not just your own anymore."

         Kid made a face, as if revolted. She waved impatiently at Serge and urged him to hurry.

         "You're my wife-to-be!" the ferryman shrieked repeatedly.

         Kid shivered, as if his shrill chilled her as much as his mushy words did. She raised the sails and frowned as the ferryman repeated his roars. 

         "Kid," said Serge seriously, his eyes focused on the distant horizon, "are you serious?"

         "Serious about what?" snapped Kid, who seemed edgy and furious at the ferryman's attention.

         "Serious about marrying that Korcha?"

         Kid slapped a palm to her forehead, as if her head ached. She heaved a sigh in surrender, and then said, "Serge, _you _are such a Beachbum."

The lackluster winds and the errant currents were the reasons for the sluggish journey on a boat. The flimsy, clunky, wooden vessel crawled through the waves, carrying on it travelers of four, each of their patience put to the test. Soaring from the western skies in lone flight was a seagull, white, beautiful, tall above all. Soaring to the skies above them, it circled, watched and squealed at the four who crawled to their destination, like an arrogant hare that mocked a dim-witted tortoise. And for as long as day reigned, the sun that was never to stop burning this world continued to blaze through the naked canopy of azure blue and assail the earth with its fiery might. And for as long as their destination remained distant, the four companions had to put up with the wearisome boredom.

         Leena helped drown the hours of dreadfulness with her continuous flow of chatters. Like a magician who pulled an endless chain from his own mouth, she pulled an endless chain of words from her own and made Serge her first audience. Then, when Serge's unreceptive seriousness disappointed her, she recited her verbal prowess to Kid with much fervor and enthusiasm. Soon, Glenn found himself showered by her quizzes that sought to uncover in one boat trip all things about his life, all things personal, good and bad.

         "Where do you grow up in?"

         "Termina."

         "How old are you?"

         "Twenty."

         "How about your parents? I heard your father is--"

         "He's passed away."

         "How about your mother?"

         "She's left, too."

         "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Are you attached, or married?"

         Where most people stopped and shifted their gaze about to let apology settle, she continued prattling at full throttle, completely oblivious to her own insensitivity. Although Glenn minded none of that, he was surprised that an outspoken lady such as she was knew little of basic manners. But eventually, she handed the baton of responsibility for keeping the team spirit high over to Serge.

         Serge poured to Glenn his story and all complexities of it, including the journey that spanned two parallel worlds. Serge also explained what he knew of thus far, which he admitted was too little to shed light on his miserable plight. Glenn, however, found himself absorbed in Serge's tale of an uncanny, even magical disposition. The tale twisted and meandered, rose and fell with that much drama, and that much mysterious phenomena, Glenn almost felt it was a story invented, even if he trusted otherwise.

         "What would Lynx have to do with the future of the world being split in twain?" Glenn wondered aloud. "I find it strange that the world may divide into different futures, each charting its own course of history."

         "Like you, we are baffled," Serge said, resigned.

         "The story revolves around Serge," added Leena, "and this terrible thing known as Lavos. Perhaps all this that is happening revolves around this Lavos, too. Unfortunately, we don't know much of this Lavos as of now."

         "I know nothing of this Lavos either," Glenn said. "But even so, its name is of one that rings in my ears an ill feeling, if I may say."

         "I feel the same way, too," Serge agreed.

         Glenn turned his eyes to the ocean to gather his thoughts and relive the story in his mind. But he saw in the corner of his vision the thick, plumes of black smoke rising up into the sky. He jolted to his feet, tilted the boat, lost his balance and fell back into his seat. His companions caught his line of sight and followed its direction.

         "That is...," Glenn pointed. "Sir Radius!"

         "Oh dear!" gasped Leena, hands to her mouth.

         "Sir Radius?" asked Serge, his lips parted, his brows raised in surprise.

         "He is the master knight I mentioned," said Glenn as he grabbed the oar, dunked it into the water and began to paddle. "He lives there."

Over the isle hung a faint mist, stretching as far as the beaches and into the blue seas. Stench of burnt wood saturated the air, acrid and stinging to the nasals. A scenic isle crowned with the many trees of lush green had its attention robbed by the thick, dark plumes of smoke that rose from its center. Overhead, the unblemished blue was blotted in dark, wispy black that refused to drift away, for the winds above had precious little strength to take them far.

         The instant the boat touched shore, Glenn leapt off it. Covering his nose and mouth, he charged forward, past the shores of the Hermit's Hideaway. The duty of a knight called for a hand to his sword, his courage, and his instincts to ward off a possible enemy who had torched a friend's territory. But the filial piety for his guardian stirred in his heart none of the disbelief, anger and disgust, just as his mind did none of the cajoling to push his legs forward. His heart was calm, unperturbed and his mind thoughtlessly followed where his legs felt obligated to carry it to.

         His companions trailed him closely, as he brought them storming into sparse woods. Twigs and branches cracked, and grass and sand rustled as they scrambled urgently along a faint trail through the woods. A lizard camouflaged itself amongst low thicket and paid little attention to the passing din. Birds on the ground hopped away from the coming rampage, and watched curiously the anxious flutter of the four, worse than a frightened flock of their kind if they took to the skies. Above them, the sun poked through the riddled canopy of leaves and left its rays glowing in the foul-smelling smoke, a sight as captivating as it was ironical. 

         Soon, the party of four companions emerged at a small clearing in the woods, from where the smoke steadily rose. 

         A tall, sturdy tree once stood before them and served central pillar and support to a two-storey wooden home where Sir Radius lived. The last of the flames burned away at the tree, crackling, as if slowly gnawing and chewing. It had left behind a skeletal frame, bare of leaves, charred and smoldering and shrouded in smoke dense enough to throw a screen of tears over Glenn's eyes and tickle him in his throat. The dwelling of modest make was no longer: its walls and contents, reduced to piles of burnt debris that lay scattered at the roots of the tree. Perhaps, even its owner rested amongst the ashes on the ground.

         "What happened here?" Glenn wondered, frowning. "Did Lynx do this?"

         "That is correct," said a voice that brought a frown to Glenn. "But maybe not?"

         Amidst the foggy environs, a figure appeared and descended gracefully, magically to the ground. The bells on her harlequin costume jingled softly.

         "The correct answer is, I did this under Monsieur Lynx's order," sang Harle with a lively tune, and her arms spread wide in pride.

         "You again!" Kid roared, displeased. Then she sneezed twice. "Blazes! Darn smoke!"

         Harle ignored Kid, tiptoed, and spun a full circle that ended with her facing Serge. Her bells jingled like those heard during the most joyous of festivities, unfitting now to the bleakness of the circumstance. Harle bowed low at Serge, as if with much respect. But Glenn found little reason to show her any.

         "Harle," Glenn said firmly as he drew his sword, an action his hand felt obligated to perform. "What have you done to Sir Radius?"

         "Ooh-la-la! Glenn!" Harle teased as she playfully swayed her body. "You're all fired up!"

         "Tell me," Glenn demanded.

         "Tell us, you evil fiend!" Leena followed angrily.

         With a smile and a disdainful wink, Harle wagged a finger each at Glenn and Leena.

         "Excuse me, Serge, but do you want to know why I burned this place to the ground?"

         "I'm sure you'd be glad to tell us," said Serge, his swallow ready for the confrontation.

         "To get rid of that geezer who lives here," explained Harle. "Monsieur Lynx says to smoke him out and lure him into the fort. I figured it's the same either way, so I smoked him instead. But I was disappointed to see that the geezer isn't here. I wonder where he went?"

         "You realize you have committed a grave crime for attempted murder," said Glenn, relieved that Radius might still be alive. "You must be punished for what you have done."

         "Ooh," said Harle, fingers to her mouth. "Punish, you certainly will. But how, I wonder? Let us not forget that the dragoons have holed up in Fort Dragonia, and would likely have no proper facilities for my detention and trial."

         "The Council requires no court and cell to put you to death!"

         Glenn flashed his sword and reminded her of his threat, one that Harle plainly ignored. He took a step forward to pronounce his resolve, but with a look of derision she regarded him, the way an adult regarded an immature child. As Glenn raised his sword for the strike, Harle only tucked her hands behind her, stood on her toes, and smiled at Glenn that was to him a demonstration of invitation and of challenge. Strength surged from within his being and brought him storming towards Harle. His arms swung down in a powerful slash. But the blade of steel was only as sharp as the years of combat experience built up from theoretical military training; it disturbed only smoke, for Harle had disappeared from where she stood.

         "Do I consider myself reprimanded?" said Harle playfully as she reappeared near the debris that was remnants of Radius's seclusion. She spun on her toes to Glenn and regarded him with a triumphant smile. 

         Glenn frowned. 

         "Well, my dear Serge, I'd be off now," she bid. "I'll see you again, real soon."

         The merry jester blew a loud-smacking kiss at Serge, a kiss at which Kid snorted. Harle flipped into the air and disappeared. 

         During her stay at the manor for the past three years, Glenn had seen that she was oblivious to people, danger and threats. Like customary etiquette of hers, she wore no hint of fear on her face, but the radiant smiles of arrogance and insanity, smiles that were masks of her deepest feelings and darkest thoughts within. Like a spoiled brat from a filthy rich family, she saw herself as the greatest, and listened to no one, other than her equally enigmatic superior whom she affectionately called Monsieur Lynx. Sometimes, many wondered if it was the other way around instead, that it was Lynx who listened to her. Sometimes, many feared her more than they did fear Lynx.

         "I shall comb the debris," Glenn said as he sheathed his sword.

         "Let us help, too," offered Serge.

         "Would you mind if you searched the woods instead?" asked Glenn. "Sir Radius might have left before Harle arrived."

         "There is no need," said a low, rough voice.

         Glenn turned to its source and saw in the smoke a wavy shadow approaching them. His hand found its way to the hilt of his sword as he blinked off tears and squinted for a clearer view. At length the figure emerged into view as an aged man with a bony frame, a walking stick in his hand and a wrinkled smile on his face. 

         "Sir Radius, you are safe!" cried Glenn.

         "It has been a while, Glenn."

"Miss Riddel had informed me that Lynx and the general were heading to Fort Dragonia. I played it safe and went into hiding for a while. Ever since Lynx became the general's assistant, I have always expected something like that."

         Sir Radius led the four companions to a trapdoor some fifty feet away from the scene of the arson.

         "That is why I made sure to build a sturdy stronghold underground," said Radius as hauled the trapdoor open and led his guests down a dim path down a flight of stairs. 

         A lit oil lamp that rested atop a long wooden table cast a gloom of yellow in the underground chamber. Cemented rocks and wooden pillars fortified the sides of the chamber and formed its walls, on which shadows of all stood firm to the lamp's undisturbed flame. Scrolls of paintings of ancient calligraphy and landscapes adorned one of the unflattering walls, each stroke of the brush on each painting itself a calm and aesthetic addition to the solitary haven. In the air a strong scent of incense lingered, a refreshing and cool relief from the vicious heat in the hottest of afternoons in the grounds above. Glenn closed his eyes and drew deep breaths. With every of each, he felt the fatigue wear off and strength revive in his heart, as if the scent carried mystical potions of vitality.

         "Lynx is plotting something," said Glenn as he opened his eyes and noticed Leena had just done the same. "Few know what he is up to, except that Porre has a hand in this."

         "Everything traces back to Porre," said Radius as he walked to the table and drew the seats.

         "What do you mean?" asked Glenn.

         Radius gestured with hospitality. "Please, make yourselves comfortable," he offered. "Serge, Kid, Leena, did I get your names right? Do wait a moment, while I serve up some tea. It has been a while since anyone visited me on this island."

         Radius hurried into his kitchen. The sounds of cabinets squeaked and knocked as they opened and closed. The sound of water burbled as it poured.

         "I was once a proud member of the Acacia Dragoons," said Radius from the kitchen, his words spoken in rumbling echoes in the underground chamber. "General Viper, your father Garai, and the blacksmith at Termina, and I lived through war together. But that was a good fifteen years ago."

         "The Guardia-Porre war in 1005AD," added Glenn.

         "Indeed," said Radius, as he walked out of the kitchen with a tray of a pot of tea and several cups. He walked over to the table and served the cups to his visitors. From the pot's pout a sweet aroma rose like the scent of flowers and drifted to Glenn's nose. 

         "Jasmine tea!" Leena exclaimed with a clap. "My favorite."

         "And jasmine tea, it is," said Radius with a smile. 

         Radius poured into everyone's cup the fragrant tea glistened in the golden flame of the lamp, like did the flow of honey in bright daylight. When he finished, Leena bowed her head in gratitude, lifted the cup to her nose and spoiled herself in what seemed from her expression like a divine scent from heaven. Kid threw the tea down her throat and helped herself to more. Serge's eyes maintained constant focus at Radius's every motion, as if with respect, as if in startle.

         "Guardia," continued Radius, as he took his seat, "ruler of the northern continent of Zenan beyond El Nido, was once a peaceful kingdom. But it was easily overthrown in a war that lasted no more than a full year. Your friends may not know, but I am certain you know that which side we, the dragoons, fought on."

         "Porre's side," replied Glenn. "The Dragoons fought against Guardia."

         "Against Guardia?" Leena gasped, choking on her tea.

         "I know what you are thinking, but I'm afraid that was how things went, Leena."

         Leena looked at Radius with both hands wrapped around her cup, as if she protected something dear. 

         "Our paths with Porre did not just start fifteen years ago, however," said Radius. "But you might be aware that exactly a hundred years ago, people from Porre, the southern continent of Zenan, migrated into the El Nido archipelago and colonized it. The Viper clan, the sole contributor to the defeat of the native settlers, was immediately crowned by the Porre military as ruler of El Nido. The Acacia Dragoons was established. But even under a different name, the dragoons officially belong to Porre."

         Serge and Leena nodded.

         "Before the Guardia-Porre war, Porre worded their aspirations nicely to its people. They spoke of a revolution that would overthrow the greedy monarchies and implement institutions and grant upon the people their freedom in speech and in choosing their leaders. They claimed to foresee everlasting peace under a global community. When they showed in their own home nation in less than a decade that such leadership worked, the people were impressed and convinced. 

         "Some two years before the war, Porre went on a massive recruitment spree and enlisted soldiers, the Acacia Dragoons and even bribed spies from Guardia to join them in realizing their vision. But even before this enlistment, Porre had already been secretly pushing its edge at the technological front and amassing an assortment of non-conventional firepower like guns and cannons. God knows how long they have been researching and producing these firepower. Only when war broke out two years later, did these weapons of massive destruction come into light. Their technology had been kept so classified that even the dragoons were surprised. It goes without saying that with this powerful advantage, Guardia fell swiftly, and Porre became the continent's ruler.

         "But Porre's empty promises broke, and the hidden agenda soon revealed its ugly side. Killings never stopped but, instead, worsened over the years. Ruling their people with fear, Porre slowly expanded into other parts of the world like pests slowly eating away at the earth's land. Disappointed at Porre's militarism and rampant corruption in the higher ranks, the three of us, together with the small army we brought over, retreated back into El Nido some ten years ago, in 1010AD. 

         "It was around this time when a man by the name of Lynx appeared amongst Porre's military top-ranking officials. It is a well-established fact that Lynx clambered the Porre hierarchy in a short span of time, but few knew how he earned the trust of the top officials. We can suppose he tempted Porre as he did the general with the possession of the Frozen Flame, a treasure rumored to grant its bearer any wish, but a treasure that exists in El Nido only as a legend. 

         "Over the years, the Acacia Dragoons in El Nido grew independent, tried to detach ourselves from Porre. Needless to say, Porre soon became furious, and has since been looking for excuses to assimilate us into its own territory and control in order to better their chances in the search for the mythical Frozen Flame. Porre and Lynx came to us at the tables for bilateral talks, though their displeasure with our departure was never put on record. 

         "The strategic mountains that border El Nido and General Viper's consistent refusal have successfully deterred their entry here, but only as far as three years ago, when Lynx decided to defect from Porre as he claims and joined the dragoons. But as things are now, it is likely that he has never defected from Porre. The day the Acacia Dragoons discard their manor shall be the day Porre seizes El Nido."

         "Sir Radius," said Leena earnestly as she put down her cup. "Why don't you join us? We are after Lynx, too."

         "The three of you?" Radius asked, surprised and concerned.

         "You don't think we are capable?" Kid snapped, as if in retort.

         "That is not what I meant, Ms. Kid," said Radius calmly, "and I apologize if I sounded so. Would it be possible for me to know what motivation you might have for seeking this man?"

         "Initially, we were after him for the truth," explained Serge, who spun the cup on its base and but fixed his gaze at Radius. "We want to know the truth about how I came into this world, a world in which I passed away ten years ago."

         "You... died ten years ago?" asked Radius, who seemed stunned but intrigued.

         "In my own world, I lived on. But in this world, I died. But the two worlds' history, however, continued on nonetheless, independent of each other for the past ten years. People's lives are duplicated--Leena, my own villagers, and even you, Sir Radius, exist in my own world as the chief of Arni."

         "Two worlds and I am the chief of Arni in your world? That is most intriguing," said Radius, his brows furrowed, and his eyes lost in deep thought. Then, he turned to Glenn. "And would you know about this Glenn?"

         "I have just heard, too," said Glenn. "I have not been to this other world Serge speaks of."

         Radius stroked his beard and nodded wisely.

         "Lynx seemed to know of these two worlds," Serge continued. "But at this moment, he is intent on activating the fort for some Sacrament of the Souls. And we are going there to stop him."

         "Sacrament of the Souls," Radius's brows twitched in worry. "It does not bode well. You must beware, for Lynx is a fearsome man."

         Kid snorted, raised the cup to her mouth and tossed her head back with a noisy gulp.

         Glenn cast a glance at Kid, who wore a look of disregard, blatant and rude. "That is why," Glenn said as he turned to Radius, "Lady Riddel wishes of you to speak up against Lynx and confront him. And that is why I am here--to request for your strength and support."

         "Support I will give, but strength I have none, I regret to say." 

         "But--" stuttered Glenn.

         "Say nothing more," Radius said with a hand raised. "I no longer wish to involve myself in any conflicts. Besides, there is no way I would want to face General Viper when we now stand on different sides. General Viper is my benefactor"--Radius cast a sad gaze at Glenn before he shifted it away--"in great many ways."

         Glenn avoided Radius's eyes, stared into the distance, and explained, "But Lady Riddel remains in the manor. I have tried to dissuade her, but she has made up her mind to engage in diplomacy with Porre. Alone."

         "What?" said Radius, frowning. Then, his expression receded, as if in comprehension. "Beautiful as an angel, stubborn as a mule. Few can move her."

         "And Brother has passed away."

         "I shall go in his place," said Radius assertively as he stood to his feet. "I will not allow such folly. Rest assured I will head to the manor and haul her out of it, even if I break a bone or two."

         "I-I will go with you," Glenn said, as he stood to his feet.

         "No, Glenn." Radius laid a hand on Glenn's shoulder and sat him down. "The sun sets soon. I advise you ladies and gentlemen to put up for the night. Help yourself to the rations in the kitchen. Glenn, I would like you to take care of my guests tonight. Leave Lady Riddel to me and I will have her back by dawn tomorrow."

         As Radius hurried to where a long sword hung from the wall, Glenn found a flurry of considerations in his mind, as if the frontline of the Lady's army stopped charging and now wandered in all directions, unsure of where to head. 

         Having heard Radius speak resolutely, Glenn knew he had failed. He was not as ashamed to have failed his orders, as he was to have failed to do the right thing. As a descendant of the Garai family, Glenn was powerless against a lady superior who issued orders against her own well-being, against all odds, as if she put his blade to her neck and ordered him to execute her. 

         The day he entered the military, his mind had been constantly cast into a shape his immediate superiors wanted, a shape uniform, fitting and easy to handle. He understood orders as they were, and had been taught they must be obeyed no matter the cost. When told to run, he did; when told to sleep, he dared not bat an eye. When used in training, his mind trod along the battlefield submissively on the trail of commands laid by his superiors. When assigned to a temporary leadership position, his mind wandered frantically about the open fields and searched for trails that were never there. When put to a real test, however, his inflexible mind found little strength to free itself from its regular bounds, and thus found constant struggles between orders and morals.

         As Radius was about to left the underground stronghold, Glenn said, "Sir Radius, thank you."


	15. Book 2 Chapter 5 Under the Cerulean Skie...

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**Book 2**

**5   Under Cerulean Skies**

flicker of light woke Kid from her sleep and her recurring dreams, the acute rouse of intuition jolted her body upright. She saw the chamber beyond the room door a light of fuzzy yellow that meant to her a warning of certain danger. She drew her dagger and leapt out of bed, swiftly and silently, ready to pounce and trounce a vile adversary who might seek to extend their sleep till the far end of time. Honed instincts motioned her feet and drifted them to the edge of the bedroom door frame, where she stood and watched furtively a figure lift a burning oil lamp. Weary relief soon washed down her being, when she watched the same figure of Leena ascend carefully the flight of stairs that led to the grounds above. 

As Leena disappeared through the trapdoor, she took with her the warmth of the lamp and left behind the unpleasant chill of darkness that swept through and conquered the underground stronghold.

Kid sheathed her dagger, leaned her back against the door frame and heaved a sigh. The departure of light and the onset of darkness brought a moment of nausea and a swimming feeling in her head, as if on the edge of a cartwheel they set her mind and spun it round many times. Her ticklish nose forced a restrained sneeze, and subsequently, a burst of stars and colors in her eyes, and an ache that seized her temples and sat its heavy behind on her cranium. There were few times in her life that she had felt sickly, out of which, she had attributed to anything but her own misdeed. This time, she attributed it to the needless overuse of tonic and antidote by the village doctor during her poisoning.

When after a while the moment passed, her eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness. Miserable moonlight that fell that through the open trapdoor and tumbled down the steps and spilled its pale ambient over the walls and floors cast the surroundings into dim contrast. Faint silhouettes took form, among which she saw the dark outline of Serge, asleep, undisturbed. She imagined everything she could not see beyond the shadows: his peaceful expression, his hand cushioning his head, his legs tucked into his chest and his blanket fallen onto the floor in one crumpled mess. She imagined his figure, clear and bright, superimposed over the gloomy outlines, as if light showered and showered only upon him.

Over to him she tiptoed and felt her feet slide into his blanket that had indeed fallen on the floor. Slowly, she picked it up and laid it over his legs. Serge shifted and hastily Kid retreated. He remained asleep, however, much to her relief.

There were days in the past when she had been shown such concern. When she pretended to be asleep, Sis came to her and pulled the blanket to her chin. When she was really asleep, Sis pulled the blanket and woke her instead. Sis apologized, kissed Kid on her forehead and patted her back into sweet slumber. But when Lynx robbed Sis from her five years ago, he robbed the tender moments she held so dearly to her heart. Thrown into the wilderness, Kid was made to face the cold, unforgiving days alone, and could only reminisce what unforgettable childhood had long gone, never to return. Yet, for the past five years the many of wishes lay hidden in the depths of her heart. Among them, a modest wish to relive those loving days; a little girl's to have a loved one pull over her a blanket of warmth.

Kid's eyes watered, no thanks to an oncoming sneeze. She flicked the tear, held back the sneeze and left the underground chamber to join Leena in sleeplessness.

Jewels of faint, colorful twinkles studded the skies of midnight blue; the two moons of silver and red blotted it. Canopies of trees rose above the horizon, as if in the distance clouds of black had amassed. Leaves of the flora remained still and silent, as if forlornly awaiting the slightest of breezes. Consistent hums of insects drowned the silence, gave sounds of life to the otherwise lifeless forest. But the occasional croak of a frog disrupted the hums, injected pulse to the dull and linear monotone. The smoke from the fire that had dissipated had left behind an after-smell of ash and soot. The large tree that was once the support of Radius's seclusion was now a stark shadow of bare branches.

Leena walked through the woods towards the beach, lamp held tightly in her hands. As she walked, her shoulders cringed, as if in fear. With every tiptoe, her head flitted left and right. Kid walked up to her side, unheard and unnoticed.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," advised Kid.

Leena halted, turned to Kid and gasped. Even under the warmth of yellow, her face had turned pale. 

"Y-Y-You--" she stuttered.

Kid laughed.

Leena slapped Kid on the arm. "Good riddance! Make a noise, you bum!" she hissed agitatedly. "You frighten me!"

"Come on. I frighten you?" Kid teased.

Leena patted herself on the chest and caught a few breaths. When she subdued her fear, she flounced away in anger. 

"I can't believe you," said Kid, who tried to keep up.

"Some kind of friend you are, Kid," snapped Leena, her back to Kid. "You had me thinking I saw a ghost or something."

"Now, that is insulting," commented Kid with a smile. 

They both emerge from the woods to the beach, where the sounds of waves rolled gently in to and out of. Beyond the shore, night cloaked the lands in the south where the beach faced and cloaked even the vast reaches of the sea. Only a seamless panorama remained, formed from the unlikely marriage of heaven and earth, as if at this moment both existed as an imposing whole. The colorless uniformity would strike the fear of isolation into Kid's heart, for it bore unnerving resemblance to the void she had constantly visited in her dreams. Tainted by the stars and moons and their perfect reflection on the sea, the view came to her only as much as a dreary painting would.

"The moons hanging like that in the sky... Creepy, don't you think?" said Leena as she sat carefully on the sandy beach. She placed the lamp beside her, adjusted its brightness and settled down, knees folded to her chest.

"Got over it yet?" joked Kid, as she sank her bottoms onto the sand.

Leena turned to Kid and made a face. "That is one for the books. I'll have that score settled later."

"As you wish. But why the moodiness? Don't look nothing like you."

"I'm just concerned. For Serge. It's a bad feeling."

"Familiar."

"You feel the same, too, don't you? I know you do."

"Sort of, Leena. Sort of."

"Tell me, Kid. What do you think of Serge?"

Kid turned to Leena, who gazed beyond the distant sky, with a smile on her face, sweet, but sad. Puzzled by her expression and the unexpected question, Kid composed no reply quick enough to speak through her lips.

"If you fancy him, you should speak up," advised Leena, who maintained her gaze at far away places. "If you hold your breath, others will fish the catch."

"Referring to yourself?"

Leena cast an awkward glance at Kid. As soon as their eyes met, Leena's fell helplessly to the sand.

"O-Of course not!" stuttered Leena, who made many attempts to lift her gaze to meet Kid's but failed as many times. 

Kid kept comments behind her lips, though it seemed many wanted themselves to be made vocal. She leaned backwards on her hands and spread her legs wide open for air, not knowing Leena regarded her manly posture with distaste.

Leena cleared her throat. "Not to worry though," she said. "If anyone stands between the both of you, I'll--"

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"So, why don't _you _make me a promise, then?" said Leena with enthusiasm. She got to all fours, crawled to Kid's feet and drew them close. "Start behaving like a girl."

Already, Kid felt, in this warm summer night, perspiration stick between her thighs an unpleasant sensation. Unaccustomed to the tight, discomforting closure, her legs found a necessary impulse to fold upwards and open wide for airing. And when they did, Leena crawled over them and weigh them down with her own heavy knees. Leena with hands on her waist now towered over Kid, and looked down upon her with a conceited grin of triumph.

"Thought you said to behave like a girl?" joked Kid, as she fingered Leena's chin with a hand and stroked her arm with another. "The way you are now, you look like a guy. And a bloody one who's hitting on me."

Leena flung Kid's mischievous arms aside, flustered and waved her arms in animated protest. "You! I wasn't aware Kid harbored such sh-shameful, m-morbid thoughts!" Anxiously, she scrambled back to where she earlier sat and rooted her bottoms in the sand, her lips curled in repulsion.

Kid held her tummy and laughed hard.

"Enough already! That's two you owe me," warned Leena before she made a face.

"Come on. What's the matter with you tonight?"

Leena snorted and refused to look at Kid.

"But seriously," Kid said. "I hardly say this, but thank you for saving me yesterday. I appreciate it."

"Don't think you can buy my forgiveness with that," Leena pouted, her head turned away. "I'm still angry."

Quickly Kid surrendered and down onto the sand she lied, hands tucked beneath her head. She let the silence between them two ensue, and the hums and croaks of the forest speak in their place. Under the stars, she watched their flicker but unmistakable presence, consistent and undeterred. It brought back more memories of her childhood before she lost it. It brought back the feeling of longing, as it did the feeling of her existence, for without her childhood, she would never be. As the flame in the oil lamp burned, she closed slowly her eyes and opened herself to sleep to sneak up on her and snatch her away. As this night crawled by, she relived the memories--of Sis, of stars and of blankets--that became her visions behind the weary eyelids and soon her dreams.

Before she drifted off to slumber, she heard Leena speak softly, gently, "You should really thank Serge instead. He's the one who did everything."

Kid grunted wearily as a reply.

"Hello? Kid? You asleep?"

Kid opened her eyes to a visual splendor of clear morning blue, stretched across the vast skies above her. She drew a deep breath of the morning air and expected a fresh tingle in her lungs like that of mint did in her mouth. She found instead a mild suffocation from the lingering heat like that of spice burned down her throat. She sat up, rubbed her eyes and set them on the horizon that had divided heaven and earth upon the arrival of dawn. Before long, her ears opened to Leena's zealous screeches that she nearly mistook for those of the soaring morning birds.

"You've got to see this!" Leena screamed, as she pulled one arm of Kid's with might so that it seemed as if she tried to rip it off.

Kid got to her feet and found herself dragged down the beach and into the sea where the waves washed up to her knee. The waves soaked Leena's dress, but she seemed to mind none of it. Leena remained fervent as she tapped Kid on the shoulder and pointed her towards the eastern skies, where the sun had risen by no more than half over the mountainous horizon.

"It's pretty, is it not?" exclaimed Leena.

"It's just a sunrise," said Kid cheerlessly. "Haven't you seen one before?"

Kid turned to Leena, and caught her hissing and waving to someone behind. When Leena realized Kid was watching, she ceased her spirited thrill and bit her lips with a sly, playful smile. Her eyes flitted between Kid's and the woods behind them. 

Suspicious, Kid cast a glance to the woods and saw Serge walk hesitantly toward her. She choked on saliva she had swallowed too quickly, choked on the words of protest that had almost emerged incoherent. Embarrassed at her own lack of control, she quickly turned away from him and would rather face the heat of the sun than his presence. Thoughts in her mind began to muddle, the beat of her heart thumped. Even as she tried to pack the thoughts into neat boxes and tried to stack them away, they rolled and tumbled off each other and spilled its contents within. Even as she took breaths to calm her nerves, her pulse raced as if she ran from an inevitable enemy, and ran hard and fast.

She sensed Serge near, and she sensed him stop behind her. She felt Leena hiss and wave. A moment passed and she saw Serge finally walk up to her side. 

"Oh! Something requires my immediately attention," said Leena. "If you will, please, excuse me."

The mischievous girl scurried away into the woods like an easily excited child who ran for a new toy. Yet, Kid wondered if that child would hide behind a tree, watch them both in secret and later divulge to all their demeanors and exaggerate them as misdeeds. With that nagging doubt in mind, Kid shifted her feet and kept a clean distance from Serge. With that nagging doubt in mind, Kid kept her lips as tight as she folded her arms to her chest.

As awkward silence clocked the passing of time, Kid basked herself in the rays of the morning sun. She soon realized Leena was right in her words, that the view was indeed pretty and even mesmerizing. For some reason she could not fathom, it looked all the more enchanting with Serge beside her, as if he gave her his own pair of eyes to watch through it the beauty she missed with her own. The sun that was a disc of burning flames was now to her a symbol of strength and passion, a witness to their time alone, their time together. The skies that were a spread of blue were now to her an indication of the extent of its love, undivided even across the many lands and seas. 

This was to her one of many wishes that the little girl within her had for the past half a decade, a dream realized this day. And this day, she shared this moment of her life and this place on earth with another, much to her disbelief, much to her joy. As she watched with another the same celestial being shower them with the same rays, she realized the both of them were united in the same objective, and united as if in blessing. The sun had brought them closer together, when otherwise, the distance between them would be as far as the distance of two who stood at opposite poles of the earth. 

Leena had brought them closer together.

Kid turned to the woods in search of her friend. She realized that her grown-up friend had long excused them both as she promised. She realized she had wrongly accused her friend of otherwise.

"I feel at peace," said Serge, his gaze fixed at the distant horizon.

"I feel very nervous," said Kid as she turned to him and regarded him with a smile. She knew exactly what he meant, even when her pulse continued to race. Yet, she no longer ran from that which was earlier her enemy. Rather, she faced that which was now her own emotions.

"I might have something that will calm you down," said Serge as he bent and swept his fingers through the rolling tides.

"Now, wait a bloody min--"

Water splashed at Kid and soaked her upper garments and wet her hair. Serge scooped another handful of sea water and threw it at Kid's face. With an eye closed, Kid glowered at Serge, the child who could not resist a smirk upon his first victory. She came to realize she must look hilarious, for Serge broke out in irresistible laughter.

"What the hell," blabbered Kid. 

She decided, for once, to let loose from within her the little girl that was also the hell raiser. No child would walk away without first seeking reprisal worse than that she had received. With a smile, swift arms and fine aim, Kid scooped a handful of water, complete with sand, and at Serge she flung the gruesome coagulated mass. The chunk hit him square in the face, splattered mud on his shirt and left Serge hushed of laughter. Kid had the next laugh at the side-splitting sight of her now brown-bandana teammate, for he looked as if he just had his head pulled out from a pile of dung.

"You've soiled my clothes!" griped Serge, as he wiped his face with his hands and spitted soil from his mouth.

"Serves you right," Kid gloated. 

"You are not getting away," warned Serge, a finger pointing.

"Uh-oh."

Kid took flight. Serge gave chase. Through the waves they sloshed, and then charged up the beach, flitted through the woods, and back out onto the shore like the island belonged only to them, like there was no tomorrow. Serge roared while Kid screamed. And they both made noise enough to send animals fleeing for their lives and birds for the heavens. 

When Serge delivered the retributions in the form of sand and mud on Kid's hair, they reversed their roles, and the hunter became the hunted. Serge received blessings of the earth stuffed down his clothes. Kid had her hair pulled and her ponytail untied. Serge wore new designs on his shirt, printed with the pattern of the sole of his own boot. Kid found her dagger unbuckled, and her short skirt almost undone. And Serge did have his Bermudas embarrassingly pulled down. However outrageous the pants-pulling was, it was to Kid but a simple game of chase that she had almost forgotten was so much fun. However unfair it seemed to Serge, he had thoughtfully kept within his gentlemanly limits.

Through the rise of the sun, they ran, screamed and laughed together; they rolled over, fell over and were unwittingly all over each other. The end of the hour found Kid fallen the grass and Serge falling on her. She lied back to the grass, while he got on his fours and crawled over her. She gazed up into his alluring eyes of blue and pried into the boyish mind behind. His eyes looked exhausted, even though a hundred miles more she could run. But she felt they had drawn so close in the past hour she was reluctant to even move a real inch. Yet, when Serge smiled with the charm that whipped up torrents of emotions beneath her chest, Kid feared if he would draw them too close.

"Let us..." said Serge in tired sighs as he lowered his head and rested a chin on her shoulder.

Kid raised her brows and shifted uneasily.

"Get the _bloody _hell back," he hissed into her ears.

Kid laughed and nodded. 

Even with dried rations, Kid could not resist an occasional smile. She had taken her morning beverage with arms trembling. She had taken her breakfast trying hard to suppress the little girl who seemed dying to jump up for joy, and her heart that seemed to jump out of her chest. Her epileptic state of euphoria had summed up her moods and was the attention of and the topic of ridicule for Leena. The more Leena probed, the stronger and more intense was the feeling for Kid. It had never occurred to her the bliss would last longer than the blink of an eye. It had never occurred she was even capable of it.

Yet, the longest of dreams must end with an awakening, the longest of days with the night. Thus, the best of emotions must stop and the throb of the heart settle, for more important matters awaited her attention the coming of this day. What she had persistently pursued for five years now was within her reach. What she had painstakingly endured for the same time was arriving at a conclusion. While she found new strength from Serge, it would be the greatest folly of her to allow herself to be addicted and forget the goals that brought her here today. 

This moment, the companions of four waited by the shore for the boat to approach. Serge stood by Kid, but maintained a good distance in between. Kid kept her mind focused on the plans for the day. Leena cast cheeky glances at the two she must feel were more than friends. Glenn stood closest to the waters, ready to receive the rope anchor and to receive the princess of El Nido, the ravishing beauty in the eyes of all men and women. And as Sir Radius has promised, he had Lady Riddel returned to the hideout with him, safe and sound.

"Lady Riddel," said Glenn, as he offered a chivalrous hand to the lady to assist her alighting.

The lady laid a hand on Glenn's, pulled up a little of her dress hem and leapt off the boat gracefully. She landed in the shallow waves with a disappointed frown and silence.

"Lady Riddel," said Radius, as he got off the boat. He lowered his head in guilt, as if he dared not look into the lady's eyes. "I seek your forgiveness for my insolence."

"You had my interests at heart," said the lady graciously, but expressionlessly, as if displeased.

Glenn stood at attention, but seemed uneasy. "What has happened, may I ask?"

"One could as far as to say," explained Sir Radius, "that I kidnapped the lady. I had her tied up and carried away."

"Lady Riddel...," Glenn hesitated.

"Sir Radius, I understand your intentions. But without me, the dragoons are doomed."

"Lady Riddel," replied Sir Radius, "with Lynx around, the dragoons are doomed either way. The source of the problem is Lynx, not Porre."

"I know that, too. But there are only few who can face Lynx. And I have consistently sought your assistance, but you have just as consistently refused. Do you care less for the fate of the dragoons than you do your gratitude to daddy? I am very disappointed in you, Sir Radius," said the Lady softly, but curtly.

"If it makes it easier for you, my Lady," tried Radius calmly.

"Sir Radius, you--"

"Oi! Oi!" Kid stepped forward and interrupted the royal dispute. "Enough."

Lady Riddel gave an exasperated sigh.

"Lady Riddel--" said Sir Radius.

"I understand," said Lady Riddel as she lowered her head. "I apologize for being rude."

Kid crossed her arms and tapped a foot, as she waited impatiently for the moment to pass. She observed the grandmaster's expressions for twitches on the face, like she scanned that of an unfamiliar face. She scrutinized every motion of the lady until she lifted her head and uncovered guilt in all graciousness. She flicked a glance at the rest of her companions and noticed that even they seemed unduly affected. The hush had fallen upon all, tried to overwhelm the dissipating ire and tried to douse it. Like water that doused burning fire, it left behind smoke that stung the eyes, stuffed the nose, parched the throat and left any whole person upset; any person except Kid.

Unable to contain her exploding edginess, she spoke, "Let us move the hell out of here, shall we?"

Serge nodded uncertainly. So did Leena.

"What about you, Glenn?" asked Kid.

Glenn looked at Lady Riddel, then at Sir Radius, as if he looked for their approval, or otherwise. His brows furrowed with deep creases between them, deeper and darker that the wrinkled folds of the bark of an old tree. He seemed unsure, his eyes unfocused. Even if he had his heavy boots planted to the ground, his feet seemed to hover and waver, as if he floated in dreams. Yet, he refused to articulate his thoughts into words, as if he challenged Kid into a game in which he who spoke the least won. 

Glenn seemed determine to win.

"Glenn," said Lady Riddel with a glance at Sir Radius, "if you do not wish to face Lynx, I can understand. Whatever we have spoken--"

"I will go," finally replied Glenn. "I have given it much thought. I will go with Serge and confront Lynx and the general. I may be the least of the dragoons--"

"Please! Say nothing like that!" urged the lady.

Glenn shook his head and so did Kid, as she wondered what was with all the drag. But it was this while she recalled that she had spent, and in fact wasted a whole morning with Serge chasing each other around the isle. It was this while she realized she had best kept her head still and her impatient sighs beneath audibility.

"That is the least I can do. Even if it is dangerous," said Glenn, who did not speak the words as surely as they should have sounded.

"If that is the case..."--the lady paused for a moment's thought--"Very well," she said with a nod, "you have my gratitude."

"Before you leave," said Radius, "do keep a lookout for that fog that lingers near the entrance of Mount Pyre. Do you have your compass, Glenn?"

"Yes, sir, I do," said Glenn certainly.

"What about that fog?" asked Kid, who tried to restrain a shout and several curses of vulgarity.

"Rumor says there are many cursed spirits wandering within," Radius said. "They attack ships and suck the souls out of humans."

"I have heard rumors about this accursed ghost ship," added Glenn, as he turned to look at his companions, and especially at Leena, who seemed to have gone pale at the mention of the supernatural.

Kid snorted. "A ghost ship. Don't make me laugh," she dismissed coolly and gave Leena a good pat on the back. "And don't listen to his nonsense, Leena."

Indeed, by any sound deduction, ghosts and spirits were but myths that must have been cooked up by the paranoid, the unemployed and a list of incredible minds to scare their fellow humans. How otherwise could these people have seen them and no one else could? How otherwise could she have seen none of such apparitions during the days she slept under the stars, or in the cover of a dark cavern? Even if (with any remote possibility) these beings of such unearthly kind existed, she could not see how they could scare the color, soul and the hell out of one.

"Do not take the sea lightly, Kid," said Radius sternly. "Mankind knows only but the land and the surface of the sea. No man can truly know what hides beneath the waves."

"Yes, yes," said Kid, unimpressed. As she walked pass her teammates toward the sailboat, she waved them on. "Now let's hunt ourselves some cats."


	16. Book 2 Chapter 6 A Mariner's Nightmare

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**Book 2**

**6   A Mariner's Nightmare**

ike a burdened snail that crept over sands of a vast plain, the wooden boat crept laboriously over waves of the open sea. The waters remained still, the lackluster currents pushed little. The air had turned stale, lingered over the calm, unperturbed seas. It smelt as if the air over the oceans had turned rotten like milk had turned sour. It felt as if each pocket of air remained where it had been for half the decade. This day was another mere day to add to the seemingly endless count.

While Serge rowed the boat towards their destination, Glenn commanded the directions towards Mount Pyre. Regular refreshers in naval expertise during his training in the dragoons served him well this moment. He flipped the manual in his mind and applied the standard protocols he had been duly taught. With a compass in a hand, a crumpled map of El Nido on his legs, he traced their route towards their destination. 

When the going was slow, he explored the routes over the seas and walked the corners of El Nido with his finger. But he neglected his legs and gave them no role to take part during the imaginary travel. They soon began to ache from inaction, as if in complain and in protest. He would need a thorough stretch, but he suppressed the desire to fling them both out indecorously, just as he suppressed that to stand and risk tipping their clumsy tub over. His clenched and freed his toes continuously in the shelter of his boots, away from all eyes, but he found it of little help to drive away the dreaded discomfort that sat on the rest of his legs. He thought it might be easier to pour his self into meditation, which would thus free from his mind the mental asphyxiation that was beginning to rob him of his breath. So he dreamt of a walk amongst the white of clouds. But as he did his finger wondered in circles around the map until it stopped near an uncharted area in the east, where lay a question mark.

"What does this question mark represent?" asked Kid. 

This instant, his dream melted into the thick of reality, the ache returned. 

"The Sea of Eden," replied Glenn with a soft sigh, who now realized Kid had been regarding with interest his imaginary tour.

"That's the Sea of Eden? Heard of it. It is said no one steps into it."

"It is even said that no one steps out of it," added Glenn grimly. "Mountains and poisonous corals surround the area. Even if one were lucky enough to enter, one would have to be as lucky to leave."

"I know I wouldn't want to be there," Leena remarked with a look of refusal.

"But is that not where Lynx said the Frozen Flame lies?" Serge said.

"He might be trying to mislead us," said Kid. "Then again, I wouldn't be at all surprised if he's right. Expect me there when all this is over," declared Kid with a slap on her chest, a smirk from ear to ear.

"There can be no way," said Glenn with an intention to clarify, "for if there was--"

"A Radical Dreamer never says 'no' to a 'no entry'. Besides, the 'no entry' can only be there when there _is_ one in the first place."

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you ever wondered why the Sea of Eden is known to everyone as a place no one enters, when no one has entered and left to tell the tale? If it is known that way to you, doesn't it make more sense that someone knew something about the Sea of Eden, and likely must have been there before?"

For a moment, three of the companions stared at each other, and then stared blankly at Kid. All looked as if they just heard a strange language, and now tried to flip through pages of their minds and look up the meaning of the words she spoke. All were lost, dazed and even confused, as if they failed to understand the simplicity of her straightforward deduction. It was one that seemed to have eluded all three native El Nidons, even if they lived on their home's soil for the last two decades. 

If Glenn were a common man, he could have lived out his life with little care if there were or not an entrance into the Sea of Eden. He would be concerned with eking out a living in these trying times than be contemplating a trip into a dreaded place where no man with a sound mind had thought of braving. He would not even be on this boat to pursue Lynx and stop General Viper this day. But it surfaced as a wonder to Glenn that he, a military soldier from the Acacia Dragoons, who had been aggressively trained in wartime terrain strategy and forced to map the every inch of El Nido had wondered little beyond the fact that the Sea of Eden was for no man to enter. Back to his training days he traced and tried to recollect what he had been taught, but the best of his memories returned to him an empty sack. It became clear, frighteningly clear, that no soul seemed to have spoken much of the Sea of Eden, much less knew anything of it and within. 

There is no entry, there thus exists an entrance. This new meaning that had just surfaced cast doubt upon an old preconception, like light cast upon beautiful gems and revealed its flaws and blemishes. Credit must be given to the mainlander who had only stepped foot on El Nido less than a week before, but who must have seen more to that mysterious place than an El Nidon had.

Kid snorted. "The way you blokes look, can't say I'm surprised."

"Are you saying Lynx knows how to get in?" asked Serge.

"I'm saying nothing. It is only as true as the Frozen Flame stashed away in the Sea of Eden. By the way, Serge, does the Sea of Eden in your world have an entrance? Perhaps we can find a way in there."

"Perhaps _you _can find a way in. For your Frozen Flame, am I not right?"

"Ah sheeze, only you know me so well."

Serge blushed.

"Come on, is there?" Kid pressed.

"What do you think?" Serge snapped. "Even if there were, you aren't going there."

"Stop! Stop! Everyone," said Leena, as she patted on Serge's shoulder and pointed into the distance. "Look at that. Is that...?" 

Clouding the distance was a thick of gray, rising taller than the heavens, burrowing deeper than the seas. It seemed like the distant mist of rain that fell during a storm, only it was not. Rather, it looked as if that itself were the cloud that had reached down from the skies and had amassed beneath it. Its monolithic frame shied the morning sun and its edges brilliantly glazed, like a long arch of crooked vines burning up in flames in the sky. Together with the reflection from the sea, two burning arches seemed to form the frame of some entrance grand; a golden gate meant to turn ignorance into curiosity, to invite the uninvited, and to tempt those who already sought to enter. But settled on the calm seas beneath the pastel of the afternoon blue, even the fool must know that this fog was a shadow in which lay only gloom.

"What in the blazes is that?" Kid mumbled as she shaded her eyes and gaze into the distance, as if she tried to look through it.

"That's what Sir Radius was talking about, wasn't he?" mumbled Leena with a quiver in her voice.

Having appeared mysteriously less than a decade ago, the fog had mysteriously held fast in the same area, never shifting an inch. It shielded from eyes the entrance into Mount Pyre, for it edged on the shores of the fiery volcano and stretched several miles out west into the deep ocean. Only the southern cliffs of gray and the red canopy of the Ba Trees over the Hydra Marshes of the central continent stood out prominently beside the fog. 

A nightmare the rumormongers touted as, a terrible bode to any mariner, a danger to any man. All who have ventured within returned only with details of ill and sleepless evil within. They spoke of the cold amidst the gray as cold from invisible hands that pricked the flesh and drained color from beneath. They spoke of having found themselves wander for days in circles, of having seen the needles of compasses spin errantly, and of having witnessed spirits of the dead haunt the souls of the living. Many of those never dared to sail within a second time. And after ten years since its mass, this unsightly work of nature, though harmless, had proven itself to be a menace to those on the seas.

The dragoons had their fair share of experiences within and returned to paint terrible tales of spirits of extinct dragonians and spirits that dressed queer. Even the dead of monstrous beasts, lions, hyenas, Beachbums and those never before seen in this world had been seen, and some even put on paper by those skilled to turn memories into drawings--men with the torso of a human, legs of a horse; creatures with ugly faces and sharp fangs; bears with three pairs of arms, and more of the wildest imagined only by fairy tale writers. 

The first of these supernatural accounts were dismissed by the general, but later considered suspicious, for similar ones came even from the most valiant of fighters and the most trusted of his men. Investigations began with how little knowledge of these spirits and ended with just as little. These spirits were as restless as they were silent.

"It's just a fog," said Glenn calmly to allay fears.

"_Just _a fog?" Leena protested in agitation. "Haven't you all heard of any of those stories? People lose their way and they see ghosts, I tell you! Some never even return from this, this, this ghostly place."

"That is untrue," corrected Glenn. "Even if there were spirits, rest assured they do not bring harm to people. It should prove no hindrance to our journey. Serge, please stick to our course, for only through it we can reach Mount Pyre."

Leena's face paled.

"I haven't seen or heard anything like that in my world," Serge commented. "When did that appear in this world?"

"About a decade ago," replied Glenn.

"C-Can we please not enter that thing?" Leena pleaded wishfully. "Pretty please?"

Mere hearing guided them through what turned out to be a fog so thick, Glenn felt he had entered into a world of the blind, a world shrouded in total darkness, a darkness that was the sallow color of gray. He saw none the faces of his companions. He could only imagine where his companions sat, in the posture they sat before they sailed into the overwhelming density. He could only imagine the looks they now wore--cautious, edgy and chattering. The weather had seen little rain in the past ten years, but this fog seemed untouched by the heat outside, for it felt cold to the lungs like ice was to the skin. Every inhalation was a nauseating choke down one's throat, every exhalation a sickening crawl up from one's chest. Perhaps, the warmth that failed to reach into the depths of the fog had caused its inside to turn into the bitter cold of the night. Perhaps, as tales went, an unearthly reason lingered.

"This is really bad," Leena commented.

"Bloody hell. Can't see a damn thing, are you sure about this, Sir?" Kid said to Glenn with sarcasm.

Glenn did not try to offer an answer.

Hours passed in the dreadful clutches of the cold, and still not a shore upon which the boat would sail up. No one knew how many hours they had endured for they saw no hint of the sun through the fog. And the compass proved to be of little help. Not that its needle spun eerily, but that it tipped sharply for some reason unknown, as if they now sailed across the North Pole.

Glenn began to see faint shapes appearing before him. He thought these were his imaginations, for after hours in the fog, he could only remember sitting alone by himself. Even if Serge spoke an occasional word, or Kid made an occasional swear, the fog took their words all away from his mind as it did the memories of his friends. But these faint shapes turned to soft shadows, and soft shadows quickly to tangible forms, and for the first time in the last several hours he saw Leena's arms tucked between her legs, her head hanging low in distraught.

"Seems like the fog is clearing," Kid commented. She sat up from a slouch and looked eagerly about her.

Leena looked up, her face pale, as if she were ill. "Really? Th--That's good news," she managed a smile.

The thick fog began to thin, revealing hope that their destination was near. Clouds of mist passed through them and streaks of the same twisted about them. The sun now shone from the skies two hours after noon, and its ball of fire through the misty screen was as ferocious as to the naked eye. The emerald blue of the ocean had became visible and, through the blurry mist, appeared as a gentle gradient from blue of near to the gray of the far. But beyond no horizon at the edge of the great ocean could be seen, for they merely entered a gap in the huge fog, whilst behind their boat one wall of it inched away. 

Suddenly, Leena screamed. She covered an ear, jumped in her seat and rocked the boat. With the other hand she pointed to their right and urged with her echoing shrieks everyone to look.

"G-G-Ghost ship!" she yelled hysterically. "It's coming to take us!"

On their far right stood the darkened shape of a large wooden ship, anchored in the waters. 

"Hush!" hissed Kid as she leapt forward and gagged Leena's mouth. "Get a hold on yourself!" 

When Kid had Leena's struggling screams reduced to muffles, Leena began stamping her feet on the base of the boat, as if she found comfort from fear only by raising the horns for attention. Kid pressed one knee on Leena's thigh to no avail. And all the while, Leena had her eyes wide open and had them fixed on the ship, insistent and unblinking. Even when Kid obscured her view, Leena struggled to poke her head over Kid's shoulder to catch a needed glimpse, as if she yearned for it to under a conjurer's spell transform into some shape, frightening or otherwise. Amidst her fear and interest, it took her a while to realize the furious attention she had earned from her three companions, upon which she slowly lowered her din. She finally closed her eyes and raised both hands guiltily in surrender. 

As Kid eased away from Leena, Glenn took a deep breath. He hoped the attention of them three was the only attention she drew.

"It looks like a dragoon's ship," whispered Glenn. 

"A dragoon ship?" asked Leena softly.

"Yes. A morning ago, the dragoons deployed an entire fleet of ten such ships to ferry the army to Mount Pyre. It is a sign that we must now be near Mount Pyre. Serge, would you navigate us around the ship while we look for the shore? Keep as far as distance as you can from the great ship and let us not be sighted. We should be difficult to spot." Glenn flicked a glance at Leena. "But let us not keep it out of sight, for in this fog this ship is our only beacon."

Serge rowed their boat round the ship. Kid fixed her eyes on Leena, while Leena fixed hers on the dragoon ship. Glenn kept a watch for any signs of land. After a half hour of circling, he saw nothing close to solid ground on which he could put his feet down, save that of the wooden ship. With only several hours left before night would fall upon them, the situation seemed unpleasant. He pondered over what little options they had, but never once considered floating in the sea enveloped by the black of night.

"What is on your mind, Glenn?" asked Serge. 

"I am considering boarding the ship," said Glenn.

Leena raised her arm timidly. "C-Can I say something?"

"It seems like the only way, Leena," replied Glenn to the question Leena had asked not with her words, but with her eyes. "Many needless hours in the fog we have already wasted. The compass needle tips and we must have been going round in circles. If we continue like we did, we might not be able to leave the fog before nightfall, and we should avoid coming to that. Seeking help from the dragoons onboard is the best of any options I have. Might you have something better?"

Leena rubbed her hands and then with her arms folded across her chest, she trembled, as if more bitter was the cold than that of the arctic. Glenn unwrapped his pack and removed from it a pair of gloves which he offered to Leena. She snatched it from his hands, put them on hurriedly and gladly and shrank back into a tight curl.

"Are you afraid, Leena?" Glenn asked out of concern.

"S-S-Says who? I-I am afraid of nothing. Right? No, I am not. Yes? Yes."

"As long as we stick together, we will be fine," said Glenn.

"Easy for you to say," Leena mumbled beneath her breath.

"Excuse me?"

Leena shook her head.

"If there are no objections, let us then head for the ship."

Glenn and Serge rowed them towards the great wooden ship that magnificent vessel towered at least six stories high. Three empty masts towered even further for another ten stories high, from which the sails would hang and catch the moving wind. While this military transport had the power of the winds to sail, it also had the power of the oars to row. Eight giant oars, like the eight long legs of a spider, four on each side, stuck out from the ships hull and dipped into waters. So great were these were oars it would require two hundred of the strongest and the most disciplined men to row the ship an inch. So massive was the entire structure, one could help little but feel hopelessly miniscule, like an ant would when near a black widow.

Serge docked at the port side of the ship, where a platform led on stairs to the main deck above. As Glenn anchored their modest sailboat against the military vessel, the rest alighted and quietly edged up the steps, with Kid taking the cautious lead. He maintained an eye at his surroundings, and a hand on the hilt of his sword, for he was unsure if the dragoons would greet him with a warm welcome amongst three other civilians.

They emerged on the deck to discover it unexpectedly empty. No man stood at the bow, no lookout manning the crow's nest above the ship, and no guards on board the deck against intruders such as them. Yet, it did not seem as if the ship had been deserted by its personnel, for there lay an ugly spectacle of the lack of discipline. Soiled and greased shirts hung from the sail ropes, cigarette butts littered the deck floor, and the vulgarities of the mobster's foul tongue could be seen painted on the steps to the bow. It was much to Glenn's dismay and shame that his companions should be allowed to set foot on such disrepute to the military. He felt compelled to lead them off the ship to consider other options. And he almost voiced his thoughts when a certain wary feeling stirred beneath his chest.

"This cannot be a ship of the dragoons," muttered Glenn as he regarded the features of the ship. "Yet, it is."

"Then what it is?" Leena hissed, her arms flinging wildly. "Let's get off here! I don't want to see ghosts!"

Suddenly, beneath their feet stomped the sounds of many running steps, both urgent and hostile. The four travelers retreated to the stairs, with Kid leading the group and Glenn covering their sixes. Kid and Serge were scrambling down the stairs on their way to escape. But Leena, in terror, tripped over her own feet and crashed painfully onto the deck. Leena yelped but quickly with her own hand she shut her mouth, as if she remembered she should be making no noise. Her cloth pack had slipped from her shoulder and had fallen to the ground, its contents, including her dagger, spilled.

Glenn bent and tried to carry her to her feet. But just this moment, he felt the cold tip of steel touch his jaw and like the frost of ice, it froze him. It slid from his jaw and slid under his chin, where up against his jugular its edge pushed. 

"Leaving so soon?" said a rough voice.

A stocky hand hauled him up by his armor and set him down on his feet, his armor clanking. The hand of another man pulled Leena by her hair to her feet. She shrieked and grimaced in pain, but when the blade of steel came swiftly to her neck, she fell obediently silent. 

A crowd of men surrounded the two, each flashing an old, oily cutlass. They wore what seemed like uniforms but not of the dragoons. Each capped a bandana of the dull yellow of sand, old and frayed. Each topped a white shirt stained brown by the streaks of soot and oil. Each wore pants of varying shades of blue, faded from over-wash. 

"Hey, bucko!" said the man who took Leena hostage from behind. "Looks like me gots lucky. Haven't seens the likes of a fresh lass for many a year now!" 

With a cutlass at Leena's neck and the terrifying eyes of a deranged madman, he stroked her fair arm obsessively. When she tried to pull her arm away, he pushed the blade up against her chin.

"Leave her out of this you filthy beast!" demanded Glenn.

"This lad's right. Won't go too easy if I were you," the voice behind Glenn warned. "The captain don't like no dealings with stupid chits."

"Arg! The captain won't know nothin', if you don't squeal on me, that is. 'sides, you can have her once I'm done!"

Then from his filthy mouth came a chilling laughter. Fear of spirits had long melted from Leena's heart, and she began to tremble with rage. Tightly she clenched her fists, and not until the edge of the cutlass pricked at her neck, she did not release them. Glenn reached for his sword, for the words of the enemy had gone too far. He would let no foul crime be committed in his knowledge, as much as he would let no harm come to his companion. He endeavored to charge forward and bring that filthy beast to his knees, begging for forgiveness, begging that judgment be dealt swiftly and painlessly. 

This while, driven by the cutlasses of the enemy at the back, Serge and Kid were forced into the centre of the hostility. 

"Such great... things! Man, how I would love to see those!" moaned Leena's captor, who must have been for his masculine desires hopelessly seduced by Kid's scanty wear. Much of the attention of those wide dirty eyes rested on her ample chest, though occasionally they did try to peer through the loose gap in her skirt. But his jaws had fallen and now and then he sought to lick the drool that had trickled from the ends of his lips. It seemed as if no longer could the restrains hold, and from within this man was soon to burst a beast of sinful lust and conquer the fairer gender of his race. Indeed, he thrust his pelvic at Leena to quench his thirst. Yet no even an instant she would permit his warped sense of pleasure to become. Before the man made any move, she had him read and read well. And when he made that slightest twitch, she tore from his grip, lifted a foot and threw it down onto her captor's. The man fumbled whilst Leena wheeled and sent flying her foot between his legs; once, twice and a third time with a shriek that would shatter and bring down the heavens. The man fell to his knees in wretched agony, and soon fell flat and cold on the wooden deck. 

A fellow comrade hurried to the man to help. Others watched with empathy, still others watched vengefully, but a handful from the look on their faces must fear the same fate. 

Leena joined Serge and Kid back to back, fists raised.

"Way to go, girl!" cheered Kid. 

"The price is just for the likes of him!" said even Glenn and Glenn's captor snorted.

"But he's disgusting!" she said squirming painfully, as if on her body now crawled a thousand worms and the likes, itching and chewing at her flesh.

"Have you no kind?" asked unintelligibly the man who tried to help Leena's captor. "How you do this to him?"

"What in the bloody hell are you whining about?" asked Kid. "And who in the bloody hell are you blokes?"

To the question he replied, "No dragoon are we, no townfolk are we. Be pirate are we, man of four sea!"

Kid laughed with derision.

"Make way for the captain!" roared another voice.

They opened a way through which a stout man with thick moustache and pigtail walked. He donned a black leather sleeveless top, and the same material for his pants, which in the daylight gleamed with an oily look. His arms were toned and over his left biceps he had tattooed the strange icon of a serpent. Despite the uncouth style of dressing and his association with the outlaws, the demeanor of this man seemed almost refined, as if around him an aura of gallantry glowed. And so imposing he seemed that his men had fallen respectfully silent. Armed with a cigarette butt between his lips, this stout man walked to his hostages and sized them up. Then to the unconscious pirate his gaze went, and he grunted with little sympathy.

"Haul him away, handsomely now!" he said to two of his pirates, and immediately they did as they were ordered. As they dragged the unconscious man away, the captain puffed on his cigarette and blew from between his lips a ring of smoke into the skies. 

"Surely you are not...," mused Glenn as he watched the smoke ring ascend and slowly lose itself in the thin mist. 

"Do I know ye, soldier?" said Fargo, unfazed.

"No. But I know you, Sir Fargo, a proud member of the four Devas of the thirteenth generation."

The captain of the ship regarded Glenn with little interest. Then, like the sudden crack of thunder, he roared in laughter.

"Hate to disappoint ye, but that's history! I now be a proud pirate of the four seas. And you, I say, lowly hostages!"

"We are here because we seek help," said Glenn.

"No worries, lad!" said the captain. "We've got rooms for yer stay, under lock and key."

"What the hell do you want from us?" Kid protested, her feet stirring agitatedly.

"Don't play stupid, lass. General Viper's ships are anchored nearby. Ye're getting to Mount Pyre to deliver them a message, ain't ye? Don't have to tell me: ye must have thought our ship was one of the lubbers'!"

The captain and his host of pirates laughed.

"You do not have the facts straight," Glenn explained. "We, too, are in pursuit of Lynx."

Fargo regarded his hostages with derision. On each of them his gaze fell, the deeper wrinkles of disbelief between his brows folded. Then as if he had just heard the first joke in months of desolation on the sea, he laughed with all intent to humiliate. 

"What's so funny?" said Kid.

"Ye even serious?" Captain Fargo demanded as he flicked his cigarette over the deck into the sea.

"How serious we are is really none of your business!"

"Course it is. You, taking on Lynx with just the four of you? Ye tickle me bones! Me says that's just bilge to cut yerself loose from here!"

"I'll cut you up before you'd even think about it."

"Interesting. Show me!"

Kid flitted swiftly from where she stood, and with a flick of her arm, she slashed her dagger at Fargo. With his strong arms he blocked, and then with a roar he threw a punch square at Kid's face, and another. Yet on her feet she firmly stood, even if the weight of Fargo's fist should send one falling on his bottoms. Two punches he had thrown and when he attempted a third, Kid dodged and countered with her own. With knuckles hardened by skirmishes as such, she went first for his eye, then at his jaw, and after a full twist about her left foot she flung her other slamming hard into his face. The burly captain staggered back three steps much to everyone's surprise, for that swift kick seemed in all eyes as gentle as the fall of feather. With his hand the captain wiped discontentedly the trickle of blood from his lips. Kid smiled, and with a rude beckon she called eagerly for his next. 

"What else do you have up your sleeves?" she scorned, referring to the captain's lack of it.

"Not bad!" Fargo said with a face, pale. "But keep in mind: we be pirates!"

"Watch your sixes, mates!" Kid warned.

For a moment, awkward silence ensued. Whilst Glenn tried to decipher the meaning of the captain's words, he also watched the pirates warily. He had expected the captain to take his defeat sorely and to order the downfall of the four under the cutlasses of his men. Surely their numbers, if not their wit and experience in battle, would prove an obstacle to the four companions, a threat to their lives if they were careless. Yet, in that moment's worth of wait, the captain made no move, much to discomfort of his instincts. 

"I..." Serge said, hand to his forehead. "I feel..." But before he could even complete his sentence, he fell flat on his face, unconscious.

"Serge!" Kid called, but even she quickly succumbed. 

"Kid! Serge!" cried Leena, then in tears she turned to Captain Fargo. "What have you done!"

"It's a tranquilizer made from jellyfish stingers," a pirate explained helpfully. "You land lubbers will fall asleep for a jolly good while."

Leena lasted long enough to hear the explanation. Without a struggle, she collapsed.

The world through Glenn's vision began to blur, and his arms and legs began to soften like jelly. Soon his legs relented and he fell to his knees. Sword thrust into the wooden floor, he attempted feebly to support himself. But alas, no strength or will he had could conquer the poison that was taking him. After a last struggle to utter into words his muddled thoughts, he, too, fell.

Spring was to a new year like dawn was to a new day, a refreshing start to a cycle that ever rolled towards eternity. It drove away the sorrows of a previous year, but rolled in the simple bliss part of every new ones. Even on this tropical paradise, warm and sunny year round, nature in the months of spring seemed ever so beautiful, ever so captivating. Roses of red blossomed in the sun of the spring, birds of white sang beneath it. The seas looked bluer, the skies fairer. Trees seemed greener, and the woods friendlier. Even the people who lived amongst the phenomenal beauty lived with lifted spirits. Such were the wonders of spring.

This new season sent the beatings away from his bottoms, and the bright smiles to the faces of his parents. This morning gave him weather great for a time of fun and laughter in the fields. Both gave him the audacity to leave the house without word, and to venture into the woods to join friends in an infrequent game of catch.

Serge always won the forfeit, always lost to his older, stouter villagers who had far greater speeds at running. He had none of the athletic build for good sprints, and knew little of the terrain he rarely had a chance to explore. Thus, he was always caught by his friends who hid behind a tree or who outran him. Yet, as all youngsters did, he had his huge dose of entertainment, part of which was derived from breaking the promises of obedience.

"I caught you!" 

A rude slap fell on his shoulder.

"It's your turn!" growled his friend, twice as tall as he was.

Disgruntled, Serge shook his head with a groan.

"I'll get you guys!" Serge vowed.

His friend smirked, put a thumb to his nose, and wiggled his fingers. Hoping for a quick catch, Serge reached a hand out but caught nothing. 

His friend had already taken off. 

Serge followed the tracks of his friend that were soon lost in grass. He ran through the woods, past his village, but found no one waiting to be caught. He scoured the bushes, the lidded barrels, the treetops but found no one willing to succeed his role. From sprints to jogs, jogs to strides, his pace slowed while exhaustion quickly caught up with him. Under the warm afternoon, his hair was wet, his back soaked. He wiped with one arm after another perspiration that tickled his cheeks and stung his eyes. He bent and panted furiously, as he wondered how he would be laughed at for being slow, and worst of all, always the incompetent loser. 

For a moment, he thought that the game had ended without notice, and that he had been forgotten. But this moment, he heard the movement of rustle in the bushes and spotted the flitting of a shadow through the trees in the forest. Encouraged by the proximity of his hope, Serge charged ahead. Driven by the wish to end this part of the game, he charged into unknown territory. Enthusiasm fuelled his legs, which paddled him towards a friend who disappeared quickly. The inertia of persistence dragged him further, towards what began to seem like a dangerous presumption. The longer he persisted, the more exhaustion wore out his limbs. Until came a point when he could forge ahead no further.

Serge stopped for a breather. What was left of his strength, he spent puffing breathlessly. He crumbled to his knees, and his body fell forward, kept fallen to the floor by his supporting arms. He watched perspiration drip from his head to the ground, as if he watched down from the clouds rain of a storm fall to earth. His heart hammered against his ears and his body, as if a carpenter did the same and tried to nail him together.

When fatigue receded, Serge lifted his head for a view. He realized he had given a chase too far, too deep. What he sought had gone. Where he came from was no longer discernable. He had all fours on dark mud that had swallowed his trails and left his being stranded amidst the wild. He saw only trees, trees that sprouted into the heavens and shaded all things beneath, trees that grew into the distance and were fogged by the darkness, trees that spanned his view and ensnared him within their cage. He heard no noises; none from the toads, none from the birds, none from the leaves that moved in the wind.

The instant he got to his feet, he caught movement from the corner of his vision. He turned towards it but saw nothing visible. He scanned all directions but discovered nothing his eyes could see. He turned round after another until he lost sense of direction, as well as any hope of backtracking. He swallowed hard, certain that an unpleasant something lurked in the cover of the thick trunks and leafy bushes, slowly watching him, and slowly waiting. 

Leaves rustled behind.

Fear struck him like thunder struck a tree and set it aflame. Shock gripped his being and sent electrifying waves of spasm, painful and searing, as if his flesh were on fire. Much strength had fled from his muscles before he could flee for his life, as if even it were terrified. His limbs had malfunctioned, as if their joints had rusted and jammed. His mind had shut down, as if it had been pulled from within his skull, leaving behind an empty husk. Serge channeled what little ounce of strength he was left with into his wobbly legs and turned slowly. Like each thump of his heart measured the slow crawl of time, each trunk of tree that entered his vision marked the inching towards a terror unknown, a terror that would soon present a face. 

When terror greeted Serge with two eyes of a black panther, the arctic frost of the poles swept through him and froze him. At a hundred feet ahead, the panther watched Serge, as if with delight, with anticipation. Its teeth glistened like that of glass even under the grim shades of leaves. It growled, as if it spoke of in its own language its voracious appetite that Serge's flesh and blood would satiate. Its saliva dripped, as if it imagined its food already in its ravenous mouth. Its legs moved it towards its lunch, inch by inch, and then wider in steps. 

Serge's legs, however, crumbled, sending his weight collapsing onto the muddy ground. Tears flowed. Desperate shrieks echoed. These cries left unheard were his only effort that came too little, too late.

The panther pounced.

A jolt at his foot woke Glenn up. When he opened his eyes he saw Serge sitting up, his face pallid, his forehead breaking sweat.

"What happened?" asked Glenn.

But to that concern Serge made no effort to reply, for he seemed lost in his own world. Even with a wave and at a snap before Serge's eyes they did not blink, as if they had lost all sight of things. Depthless and dead were his eyes and no light of life glowed in them. He tried to nudge Serge at the shoulder, but as if his soul had departed from his body Serge remained silent and unresponsive. Fearing for his teammate, Glenn woke the ladies up. Kid scampered on fours to Serge, and gave Serge a tight slap on the cheek.

"Oi! What's wrong?" she screamed into his ears.

Serge swallowed hard and closed his eyes to regain his composure. "I had a dream," he said with a shaky voice. "A nightmare."

"Only a nightmare?" Leena said. "You gave us such a fright!"

"I'm sorry," said Serge as he opened his eyes and lowered his gaze, as if remorsefully.

It was then that Glenn stood and tried the door to discover that they had been locked in. Casting glances around, he observed crates, spaces, anchors, ropes and a myriad of other naval equipment had been crammed into what seemed like a storage room. An old lamp threw a gloomy yellow upon the wooden walls clogged with blackened slime and homes to a colony of ants. The choking stench of grease reeked and stung one's nose, for the window that looked out beyond the wooden walls had been sealed shut. And through that window only a filthy gray could be seen, as if night was soon to fall. 

But Glenn drew his sword, for it seemed that his ears picked out in the stillness faint sounds of anxious wrestles and the low rumbles of running feet. And beneath his skin he felt a difference in the air he breathed, as if they were being watched.

"Something's wrong," he warned. "Be on your guard."

Then came a tormented scream, that of a woman, ripping and tearing into the silence. Glenn's hair stood and everyone else in the little room froze.

Leena gasped, her face paled. "What's that?" she whispered frightfully.

An apparition passed through the wall into the storage room and almost like an angel who descended from heavens she looked, though basked in a dull, brooding white. She cast her hollow eyes on the companions, of whom Serge seemed to interest her most. Slowly she moved towards him. She had no feet, or none to be seen but the frayed hems of a long white dress that trailed eerily her effortless drift in the air. She held a hand out in welcome, as if for Serge to hold and to support. On her flawless face, she wore a smile sweet as honey of the summer bees but deep and unfathomable as the depths of the vast ocean.

"Come!" she spoke, her voice gentle and moving. "Come with us, young man. You do not belong in this world. Do not linger amongst the living when you are already dead!"

"It is you who must leave us. For this friend of mine is perfectly human!" said Glenn, who had in his hand an Element of the Holy White. 

"The mortal words of yours cannot fool the eyes of ours. How millions of tortured souls in the dead zone would like a second chance at life in his expired body! After ten long years it has been since we were trapped in this dead zone. Tell me that truthfully indeed this young man belongs to your world, and I shall leave."

"Nonsense!" retorted Kid. "He belongs to our world and our world only!"

"Leave now!" said Glenn, brandishing the Elements. "Or be banished from all worlds forever!"

"And let the others take him?" said the ghost disapprovingly before she howled in laughter. 

But when she ventured to approach Serge, Glenn focused and cast the power of the holy white at the apparition. Engulfed in the burning glare, the ghost shrieked and writhed in agony. The beauty of her youthful self fled and left behind dark shadows of wrinkles that spoke of grieving old age. The power of the holy slowly and surely was consuming her. Soon into white mist her beautiful but tormented soul dissipated, and with it her sorrowful cries, now a lost echo fading into the distance. 

"Let us leave this room," said Glenn, and Leena agreed instantly. "And ready your curative Elements."

Glenn kicked the wooden door and from the metal hinges its frame tore.

"Come on!" Glenn waved, and the four bolted through the door, through the corridor and up onto the main deck. 

Now sailing beside them was another ship, large but grey and lifeless, as if it had come from another world. While the sun still shone several hours past noon in the western sky, it shone from behind a thick curtain of shadow emanating from the undead vessel. So dim it was it seemed as if they now sailed under the unsettling storm clouds of grey. Shielded from the heavenly glare of the sun, spirits emerged from the ghost ship's deck and hulls and in an army of many faint wisps they drifted toward their ship. Yet, the pirates were fiercely engaged in blows with those that had already arrived, and all over the deck the glare of white exploded like lightning and thunder in a storm, engulfing in each two or three spirits, sending them to their everlasting deaths. 

"Bugger! There's really a ghost ship," Kid mumbled.

"T-That is a g-ghost ship?" Leena stammered.

As Serge's presence became noticed by the spirits, they began to turn their eyes on him. Most had begun to ignore their adversary, and blindly they drifted toward Serge. This moment, an idea began to chart itself in Glenn's mind.

"Arr!" roared Captain Fargo, who had also spotted them and hurried over to them. 

"Serge!" said Glenn. "Those spirits are after you it seems, and I intend to put you out as a bait. Captain Fargo, you are here just in time. I want to put Serge at the bow. He will be charged with the responsibility of steering the ship. Will that be all right with you?"

"What ideas have ye?" said the captain. "Tell us what to do."

"Well then. Captain Fargo, you will lead half your men into the oars' room and row the ship forward. We must not stay stationary. The other half of your men, Kid and I will lead them at both sides of the deck; half of us will cover Serge and destroy the spirits while the other half of us focus our attack on the ghost ship. Serge, you steer the ship away from the ghost ship, but do not steer too far. The spirits will drift towards you but they will be easy targets for us. Leena, you are our best magician here. I want you to cover over Serge and destroy those spirits, but retreat only if you need."

"Aye!" said the captain, who immediately gathered his men, and a great half of them quickly disappeared into the lower decks. Serge hurried to the bow together with Leena, and the pirates quickly destroyed the remaining spirits on board. Before the next host of spirits arrived, Glenn divided the men and assigned them to both sides of the deck where he decisively commanded their assault.

The great oars of the pirate ship began to move as did the engines of the tactical battle. Spheres of bright white exploded in the air and burnt the oncoming spirits into eternal oblivion. In their despair, they shrieked and they cried. Carried by the sorrowful darkness, their cries dug into one's heart the roots of misery just as it poisoned one's mind. One after another their terrible voices continued to echo far into the dark distance. One after another the agony chilled and terrified the hearts of the men on board and even Glenn. But he did wish for the men to waver before the spirits, for to waver was exactly what the enemy wished of them. So he sought to raise their morale and encouraged their firm stand against the dark side.

"You are men of the four seas!" he roared. "Drive these invaders away and protect what belongs to you! Bring down the ship!" 

Thereupon, the men cheered, "Men of the four seas! Bring down the ship!" 

Lights flashed in the distance and they put hole after hole into the ghost ship. As the presence of the holy white grew stronger, larger and larger each sphere of light became, and worse the damage they each dealt. Glenn whipped out his Element beads and cast one after another at the huge vessel. As he did so, he wondered if he indeed had just uttered those words with such fervor and strength. When he heard the pirates cheer in lifted spirits, he felt a lump in his throat and a snuffle coming on. He had hardly thought of himself as someone who would be there issuing orders, and most of all, uniting his men as one fighting force to be reckoned with. Here, he began to understand that it was in him that he would depend when he could, but to lead when he was not led. He began to understand a little of what it took to be a leader, and how it felt to be one. Great were the responsibilities, but greater the fruition of his leadership if he managed well. In that few words, he had inspired men not of his own, but in return they had inspired him. 

At last, the army of the undead began to dwindle in numbers. The vessel of the undead began to sink and lag and as it did, the cloak of the shadow began to melt away. Through the riddled holes appearing in the cloak of shadow, the sun poured its rays into this part of the world, as if through storm clouds that were clearing from the skies. The unfortunate spirits who had found themselves in the path of the sun were all consumed in white flames and forever put to rest. One spirit who dodged into the shadow lived long enough to painfully witness daylight return to the mortal. 

Along with the ghost ship, the fog had disappeared for the first time in ten years. Beyond that now lie clearly the various islands of the archipelago, crowned by its lush greenery of the summer. Once again the horizon that split heaven from ocean could be seen. Once again, the sun shone proudly as it began a steep tumble down the western skies. The biting, unearthly cold was no longer and though the harshest of heat had returned it was to Glenn a blessing more than it was blight. 

The pirates cheered and clapped and hugged Glenn like he was them their brother-in-arms. 

"Well done, sir," said Kid with a pat on Glenn's shoulder and an approving thumbs-up.

Glenn smiled and to Leena he said, "Are you all right?"

"Oh yes, of course. I wasn't scared or anything! If that's what you meant."

"Serge?" said Glenn.

"All's well, mostly," was Serge's reply.

Captain Fargo ascended to the main deck and with an approving nod he regarded the four companions.

"Looks like I've been wrong about you lads," he said. Then, turning to his crew, he shouted, "Matey! anyone of me hearties down?"

"Nay, captain!" shouted a relieved pirate. "Except for you-know-who. His 'down-theres' looks like's gone for keelhaul, so I heard."

"This be the S. S. Invincible!" proudly declared Captain Fargo, as he led them companions down the steps to the lower deck. "Long ago its own maiden name it had, but I have long forgotten. 'twas many a year ago, you see. But this is my ship, my home, my life, as is that of my mateys aboard! Come! Men of the four seas do not forget their saviors and benefactors!"

"But why pirate?" Glenn asked. "Off trading vessels and even the dragoon fleet, and especially the dragoon fleet."

Fargo stopped on a step, turned to Glenn and growled, "Ye speak too much, what's-his-face-again! Ne'er do we repay our benefactors with our life stories, and ne'er do our benefactors meddle in the businesses of others. Speak more, and I shall have you be the enemy of Captain Fargo."

Ignoring the warning, Glenn stared him in the eye and curtly spoke, "Look at what you have done to our ship--a dragoon's ship. And you, _Sir_ Fargo, are a Deva. Even if of a past generation, you die a Deva. For even a man to stoop to such depths is shame to himself. And shame is what you have brought to the repute of the dragoons."

"Well said!" roared Fargo as he closed in on Glenn and breathed heat in his face as if he breathed the fire of an irate beast. "But best said to the general," he said with a twitch of an eyebrow. "Shame of disrepute mars the glorious flag of the dragoons; stain of blood mars the silver steel of their blades. Had it not been for the general and his policies, we would have been--"

Fargo stared into Glenn's eyes, unable to finish. The fire from the lamps burned in his eyes. For a moment, Glenn saw it appropriate to discontinue, for behind the rage he saw a faint flicker of sadness, of unspoken despair. 

The "betrayal" of Fargo had been set as a counter-example of how unbecoming of a dragoon. And such words as betrayal were amongst the ugly names the dragoons had unanimously branded this pirate with. In the eyes of the army, Fargo was but a shadowy figure without a face, a figure with his past told in the black pages of the dragoons' history. That he was the one who walked out of the gates willing, they chanted. That he was the one who turned from the light to face the dark, they preached. That his downfall shall soon come to him swift, they vowed, but never did. Instead, the captain had used cover of the fog against all eyes, and against all those who promised to topple him, braving that which had much unearthly tales to tell.

Fargo backed from Glenn and blew smoke. "Long ago," said he in a softened tone, "me knew someone like you, but he's now back at the locker. If he be around, I might still be _Sir_ Fargo. But who's to say? Nothing ever is predictable."

"Who might you be speaking of?" asked Glenn.

"Grandmaster of the thirteenth generation of Devas, young man. Garai be his name," said Fargo. "Arr! A valiant warrior as far as I can remember, a great fighter he be. But his death was a mystery. Brought down by a blade, so I heard. But who knows of anyone who had the audacity and the knack to match? Not even in the dragoons, we do not. But do you know Garai in person?"

Glenn inhaled deeply and stirred in his feet. He became uncertain whether or not to reveal his lineage to this traitor of the military, and he could imagine the familiar scowls his revelation would bring to this pirate. "In the shadow of your father you live but none of the glory you bring," they were wont to say as much as he was loath to hear. "Who are you to lecture me on repute and disrepute?" And so Fargo might even add.

"Garai's his father!" said Leena helpfully. Color had returned to her cheeks, the color of rosy pink. She wore a proud grin as if she were too glad to share any knowledge she had with all.

On Glenn Fargo affixed his eyes with as much a look of expectation as of disdain. "Little wonder," was all he said. His eyes said the rest.

Fargo turned and led the companions to a door. With an adjusting nudge and kick at the frame, he opened the door, through which the bright of sun poured and the freshness of moving air flowed. Into the room they went, a room furnished with wooden benches and tables, old and dark like that of coffee brown. Their tops were badly chipped into, their edges frayed with protruding splinters. Empty wooden frames that hung on the sidewalls of would give the dining room a cold, discomforting look of solitude, had it not been for the huge doorway into the balcony, through which the splendid view of the seas could be seen.

"Sit yourselves comfortable," said Fargo, and with an arm in gesture, he urged the companions to their seats. "I have had the cook ready your meal and extras for the taking. None the likes of royal delicacies, nor will you see linings of the silver platter. But it is fuel for your mind and body. I'll leave you lads here, while I tend to the... the mess upstairs." Fargo ended with a tilt of the head before he left through the door.

"Some pirate," said Leena, her brows raised, and her lips biting each other. She looked happy, and if she were trying to, she tried hard. She seemed to have forgotten the nightmare on board the Invincible of having come face to face with ghosts and spirits of the netherworld. She seemed free.

"Are you all right?" Glenn asked, concerned.

"Perfectly fine!" she replied with a healthy grin, one that set Glenn's heart at ease.

This while, Serge stood up from the bench so suddenly, he startled the ladies. Sullenness swept the brush of despair over his face, the burden of troubles on his mind revealed their pressing weight upon his weary eyes. Leaving his double-bladed swallow sitting upon the dining table, Serge left his companions and walked slowly, heavily towards the balcony. Kid leapt from her seat and swiftly, she joined his company. With an arm wrapped loosely round Serge's neck, she began speaking to him softly. And Leena, who sought to stand, sank back into her seat. The lifted spirits forsook her, and as if the wings of the angel had disappeared, her fair shoulders fell heavily into dejection. A sudden gloom veiled the dining room like the sweeping shadow of the clouds of storm. In its midst, the gentle whispers from Serge and Kid drifted to their ears, whispers that must sound like the split of thunder to Leena's sensitive ear. 

Then, to her feet Leena sprang, with a bitter smile on her face. "I have to go to the ladies," she declared noisily, as if to declare to both Serge and Kid who were too intent on each other's counsel to be paying attention. "Be back in a while!"

"Let me accompany you," offered Glenn, for he saw all that happened before his eyes.

"I remember now," spoke Serge softly as he gazed into the distance, a backdrop of pale blue. Mount Pyre stood easterly against the plain blue and stretched like a plateau across the western edge of the main continent. The dull of gray cast the color of gloom upon its slopes, conquered its foot and reached menacingly towards the shores upon which the waves of the sea crushed. Within its unappealing guise lay the burning fires feared by all men, but this day conquered by the dragoons. Even a flock of birds that had ventured towards the cavern entrance soon veered towards the north.

Intently Serge stared into the cavern entrance that infused within his veins with a sense of darkness and foreboding. As he fell into a world of his own, he imagine the echoes of the chants of a thousand chilling voices beckoning his presence. And as each moment passed, the entrance seemed to grow in size, as if it were coming for him, or as if he went towards it on his own accord. Whilst the black of the cavern robbed him of his vision, memories granted him sight into his past, much to his dislike. He saw floating in his mind memories that were once happy, memories that were once sad. But worst of them all, he saw in stark reality memories that stirred within him remorse and forlornness.

Remorse took the form of a man who wore an exuding charisma, a healthy tan and always a hat over his head. Forlornness appeared in the form of another, stout and strong, and whose strict discipline and guidance still struck both fear and respect in Serge's heart. In the early hours of the rising sun Serge watched from the tavern door in secret, the two young sailors in their late twenties--the closest of friends, the best of buddies. They raised their mug of ale in cheers while they joked of beauties, brandy, and all things adult, like they always did each morning. When Serge left them at the tavern that day to join his friends against all advice, he left them both forever.

"I killed both Leena's and my father," Serge confessed.

"What?" hissed Kid, who stood closely beside Serge. The frayed threads of her red blouse brushed against his arm, her every breath warmed his cheek. And as she laid a hand on his shoulder, she regarded him with a look of puzzle.

"I should never have gone out to play that day," mumbled Serge. "I was only three, and it was only a game of catch. But look what happened! I ended up bitten by a panther. I remember how felt. I was scared. I saw blood and I felt pain. But at three, I could not understand at all what was happening. When the pain left, and sleep crept up to me, I even remember feeling elated. After that, in my dreams, I heard shouting from somewhere, as if they came from a distance. I think I heard crying, too. I felt my head wobble. Surely I was being carried around. But I just let myself fall deeper into sleep. The panther was poisonous, and its venom was slowly taking me. Leena's father and mine must have tried everything they could to save a young dying child, but they died trying."

"It's not your fault," Kid hissed into Serge's ears. "At three, you were only a little squirt and wee tall."

"My father died because of that little squirt!" snapped Serge. "Leena's father died because of me! All because of a moment of folly! I should have died, but two other lives were sacrificed instead."

"It was an accident!" Kid retorted. "If you had known, would you still have gone out to play? If you had known, no one had to die. Hell, had anyone known, none in this world will perish! But we _never _know. Yes, it may be an excuse, it may be a break. But the past is now behind you, Serge, so leave all the hell of it behind you."

Serge softened, "I know what you mean. But it is difficult."

"It is difficult, but you, yes, _you_ can. You have it in you. Don't despair."

Serge felt Kid's grip on his shoulder firmed, the support from it giving him a good measure of strength. From the dark depths of despair it was pulling him up, and urging him to cling tight for his dear life. As the walls of the distant past fell away from around him, the light of the heavens gradually opened to his eyes. Yet, now and then his grew an urge to look down and a desire to slip back down into the darkness. The recurring indecision dug into and rooted in his mind, its intention to take him away from freedom. Serge succumbed. With a release of a hand, he slid down the lifeline towards rejection, towards downright denial.

"I can't," he said. Then, he found a convenient excuse. "What am I to tell her? What am I to tell Leena?"

"You don't."

Serge regarded Kid whose counsel presented a tempting option, even if it means he might have to lie. "But what if she finds out? That she knew that I knew I caused her father's death."

"You worry too much, mate. I'll... you know. I'll help. We'll think of a way when the time comes."

Serge nodded, slowly, as if uncertainly. As he found himself pulled into the bright of day, the noose of remorse remained tight around his chest, newly surfaced memories lingered in his vision. 

"Thank you, Kid." 

Kid bopped her head and with a wave she dismissed immediately her effort. Then, she turned and scratched the back of her head as she stared at the empty benches. "Now, where have those two gone?"

Leena flounced out of the dining mess into the corridor, but she headed nowhere toward the washrooms. She never said a word, but tugged her hands behind her. Puzzled, Glenn accompanied her as he promised, down the corridor, up the steps, deck after deck, until they reached the top. There she walked to the wooden railing at the edge and stared out into the ocean. Instinctively, Glenn hurried to her and grabbed her by her arm.

"Don't do anything silly," he said.

Leena turned to Glenn, with a look more puzzled than that of a confused child. It was a while later before she gave a soft and innocent chuckle. "No! I am not going to jump! You silly!" With her hand Leena ruffled Glenn's hair, like a sister did to a brother.

"I see," Glenn released her arm, and turned to look at the sea.

For a moment Leena seemed content to stare aimlessly into the vast blue expanse, even under the stifling heat of the afternoon sun. The calm of the seas reflected its serenity in her eyes like it would in a mirror. She smiled, sweet and gentle, her lips curled like the petals of a budding rose. Then, she closed her eyes, and with a deep breath drew into her the warmth of nature and the essence of life. 

"Glenn, have you been in love before?" she asked as she opened her eyes.

Glenn looked at her, with no expression. 

"Now I know how it pains to see your loved one with another."

Glenn said nothing.

"I'm fine, Glenn," she said, biting her lips. "I just wanted to talk about it. Can't feel any better! Thank you!"

Leena turned from the rail, and as her face turned before him he spotted a trickle of tear down her cheeks.

"It is Serge," Glenn couldn't help say, "isn't it?"

She stopped. She looked up into the sky for a while and then slowly, she turned back to the railings to face the calm waves. "You could tell?" 

Glenn wondered how anyone would not.

"Obvious to you, but oblivious is Serge."

Leena chose silence to spell her thoughts, and for another moment she gazed into the sea, as if each wave were her thoughts poured onto it. Glenn waited for he knew she had something to speak, something she was dying to let someone else know. He had little friends of the fairer gender, but he found her easy to read. That dull shine of pearl in her eyes spoke to him more than words would say.

"When I first met him, I felt I knew him long ago. Only when I knew who he really was did I discover why. But I was mistaken when I thought what I had for him was just--"

Her tongue failed her.

"Friendship?" Glenn added on her behalf.

Leena nodded slowly. She turned to him, her eyes watery. "Bitter sweet is how I can explain that feeling. Sometimes it makes you want to tell everyone to know how elated you feel. Sometimes it makes you feel an ache in your heart, numb but terribly hurtful. At first, I thought I'd be better if I bring them both and see them together. I wanted them to be happy. It turned out to be a mistake, I suppose." 

"It was very brave of you."

"Brave?" Leena heaved a long sigh. "Silly is the word!"

"I understand how you feel, for there is--"

"There is what?"

"No, there is nothing at all."

"Not a very good liar, I see. There is someone you like, too?"

A sudden ticklish heat burnt up his face and, in the blaze of the sun, scorched his ears cherry red. A desire to scratch the embarrassment off his face tingled his fingers; the same to run from it all stung his legs. His wandering eyes found a diversion in the distant landmass, and affixed their gaze upon it. Yet, he could feel those of Leena probe into his every lack of reaction, his every twitch of the eyebrow, his every swallow of uneasiness, and through them peer into the deeper recesses of his emotions. The robust iron of his armor would keep the sharpest of blades at bay, but could do nothing now to foil her sharpest of inquisitions from slowly slicing through and dissecting him.

"Lady Riddel, is it not?" guessed Leena.

"How could you know?"

"How could you tell my feelings for Serge? The same way I can tell yours for Riddel, Glenn. The way you look at her and the way you talk to her. You don't talk much and when you do, you always sound dorky much like Serge does! And pardon me if offended you. But before her, you are radiant, and words from your heart speak through your mouth smooth as the flow of warm honey. You care a lot about her, I can tell. Have you told her?"

"That cannot be possible," said Glenn as he tried to understand how the hints could have shown through, and how he could be just as easily read.

"Why's that?"

"She's betrothed."

"Oh... to your elder brother, right?" Leena said ruefully. After which, she was speechless. Then, at length, she apologized softly, "I'm so sorry!"

"Be sorry of nothing, for it is no fault of yours. I've been through it long enough to feel little. But for you, the pain must hurt for the wound's still fresh. Perhaps you have considered leaving and heading home."

"The day I met Serge, I've made myself a promise to see him and Kid through this. I'll keep that promise... I'll achieve it, I'm sure." Her voice cracked.

"If you need an ear--"

"Thank you, Glenn!" Leena interrupted. Like a little girl she hopped to a tiptoe. And with a tilt of her head, she joyfully spoke, "Thank you for listening! I really appreciate your counsel. I feel _so _much better now! Let's go, shall we? They must be waiting for us. And don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

Leena ended with a wink and hurried to the stairs. Glenn watched from her back her haste, and watched her cover her mouth. Little doubt, tears were flowing.

"I haven't the slightest idea how ye land lubbers will get to Mount Pyre," said Captain Fargo as he unwound the rope that anchored the sail boat to the S. S. Invincible. "Mount Pyre is a fiery hell! That much I'm sure even you have heard. Can't even get near it, let alone into it. No magic, no Lynx, ye'd never make it through I can assure ye."

After Serge packed their belongings neatly onto the boat, he turned to Fargo with a grateful smile. "I thank you for the lunch and kind warning. But we must go after Lynx into Mount Pyre. We'll find a way, whatever it takes."

"Whatever you say, lad," said Fargo, unimpressed. "But ye're always welcome aboard whenever you need food and shelter. If you need any help, just call out my name."

"You won't appear before us like a God, now would you?" joked Leena, as she tried to act puzzled.

"No. But like any God, you'll have my silent support," said Fargo.

Leena returned a polite smile.

Kid snorted, raised an eyebrow to hint her displeasure. "Let's just get out of here."


	17. Book 2 Chapter 7 In Search of the Dragon...

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**Book 2**

**7   In Search of the Dragon Blue**

mountain of dreary gray climbed toward the skies, its face chipped and eroded by the passing of age. The uniform blue of the heavens appeared ever paler against the dark of the mountain wall, as if the skies were overcast, rain were to fall. At the skirt of the vast range lay a shore of sand of unsightly brown, strewn with the litter of jet granite that had crumbled from the mountain slopes. The signs of life on this northeastern edge of the central continent were but a single crab scurrying towards the safety of the waters. The parched land had failed the growth of trees that were in abundance elsewhere on the central continent. The same land that looked dismal cast a premonition of peril that lurked somewhere within its dim caverns. None ventured in, for none could.

Legend spoke of the Fire Dragon God, one of the six divine Dragon Gods, who once dwelled in these caverns, in which fire burst from the within the deepest crusts of the earth in molten lava. Legend also spoke of its gracious descent from the heavens that brought upon the world light and warmth of the day in the emptiness of the cold, dark night. There was a time when He was revered by all. There were ages when the songs from the birds and fishes and all life on land sang of the following ancient verses: 

_The giver of life to us all,_

_The day has been,_

_               Till the fall of night is seen._

_               The giver of warmth to us all,_

_The flame has been,_

_               Till the winter takes all things green._

_               The God of Fire! We praise thee!_

_               Let not the darkness take our lands,_

_               Let us see!_

_               The God of Fire! We praise thee!_

_               Let not the coldness chill our hearts,_

_               Set us free!_

But so loudly on the mouths of men today pronounce the accusation of to this divine being whose legacy, they claimed, must have left behind a now faltering weather.

Already at few hundred feet from the shore the companions could feel the searing heat, far worse than the climate in this part of world, far worse than the fiery blazes of a thousand suns. Even the dragoons had seen it wise to dock their massive fleet of ten wooden vessels a mile before the shore. So great and callous was the heat that the tough walls of the mountains wavered like the soft of silk did in wind. As the travelers drew closer to their destination, they saw as much as they felt wave after another of drafts rippling from the cavern entrance. And whilst the heat rolled into them, the sounds of burning fire borne on the drafts roared in their ears. When their boat approached solid footing, none of the four dared set foot on the burning sands.

"The dragoons are here all right," observed Kid. "But how the bloody, burning hell did they get in!?"

"It puzzles me, too," said Glenn. "What would Lynx do to lead an army through fire if he had not the power of water? If anyone could douse the flames of Mount Pyre, the Water Dragon God could, but He remains only a legend in our history."

"God? And a Dragon at that?" sneered Kid. "Don't know about you guys, but I sure as hell need no Dragon God to get me through hot water." She chuckled at her own pun.

"Don't know about you guys," said Leena, as she fanned herself furiously, "but it is really getting hot here. Can I suggest that we row back, _then_ talk?"

The rest of the companions looked blankly at each other, as if they knew of nothing to say.

"I am quite certain that we cannot go near it, now, can we?" said Leena. "Shall we move?"

Then from the air spoke a young lady's voice.

"Ooh-la-la," it said with a thick accent. "Leaving so soon already?"

An animated jester faded into sight, hovering effortlessly above the shores of the beach. Dressed in a loose, colorful suit, she appeared into view like did a tiny shard of the rainbow against the endless gray of the mountain walls. There she folded her arms across her chest and regarded the four travelers with a grin colored with the yellow of sunshine, and eyes brilliant as that of the twinkling star. Of the four companions, her eyes met Serge's the longest, and when they did, the more radiant did her smile become, oblivious to the heat from the cavern behind. The bells on the ends of her headdress tinkled and the loose of her suit fluttered with every draft of hot air, at them all she seemed to grimly relish.

"Have you come once again gloating at our predicament," said Serge, "Harle?"

"You have a sharp tongue, Serge!" said Harle, whose grin gradually turned sullen, as if she were deeply saddened by his remark. "So sharp it hurts!"

"Serge, let's just ignore this clown," begged Leena, while she tugged his sleeve, "let's just row out of here."

Harle raised an eyebrow, and then flipped in mid-air. When she turned upright once more, she bent forward and wagged a finger at Serge. "A man who wins the hearts of many, but also hurts them. Oh, how mean you can be, Serge!"

"Oi!" roared Kid. "If you have an arse itching for a scratch, trust us to give you a good, hard spanking. Or, in good old Common, get the hell out of our way."

Harle put a finger to her lip and looked up into the heavens in deep wonder. Then, as if she had unraveled a profound puzzle, she regarded Kid with light sparkling within her cheery eyes. "You would leave the comfort of your shell and take me on? I do not think so, O Dirty One! I would think, rather, Your Highness would chicken, no?"

Kid saw red and drew the dagger, the ferocity of her motion rocking the delicate wooden boat. She almost stood to her feet when Serge laid a hand on her shoulder.

"I would hear nothing else from you, Harle," said Serge as he stood and dipped an oar in the water. "Please leave."

"Oh, you would hear from me and of how to enter Mount Pyre," said Harle as she fixed a gaze on Serge. "Only the Water Dragon God may guide you. And to those who think He has forsaken our world,"--she shot a glance at Glenn--"He has not. He appears only to those who believe and those who seek."

"A treacherous lie, Serge!" warned Glenn. "It's a ploy to turn us away from here. Tell us how a ten thousand strong army could have discovered any God in a short span of time, and I shall reveal to us your true intention. Can you not see how laughable the remark is you have just made?"

"Lynx has prayed on behalf of them all and the Water Dragon God has answered. Is that not simple?"

"Why could you not pray for us instead? If you are, like what you seem, keen on helping."

"I cannot, for I already have the blessings of the Dragons."

"You have them, Indeed! But why is it not, if all Dragoons have been blessed, that I have not been put under that same charm? I feel fire on my flesh, and I can bear not to inch forward without the heat consuming my mind and body."

"When you begin to have faith, Glenn, the blessings of the Dragon God will protect you. Won't you like to try?"

For a moment Harle watched Glenn with a straight face, as if she waited for his response. With her brows raised, her simple challenge had become a test of much of him. His lack of courage would show if he chose not to proceed. His swear of solidarity would break should he choose to enter. Yet, he would be branded as indecisive should he fail to even answer. 

"Faith. You have naught that I may trust." 

The smile of brilliance returned to Harle's lips and eyes.

"I've said all there is to say and I shall take my leave. You either believe or you don't. You weigh the odds, you make your decision. In the meanwhile," her eyes flirted with Serge's before she threw at him a loud smacking kiss, "dream of me every night, yes?"

Harle faded from view and left a moment of silence and void, as if all color had suddenly forsaken the world and the four companions were left amidst in the gloom of gray. Then, a flustered Leena reached for the oar, pulled it to the water and began desperately rowing them from the heat. Glenn offered to relieve her, but Leena insisted otherwise with a lengthy demonstration of seemingly defiant cold and stubborn silence. Serge sat stunned for a moment, before he dug his swallow into the water and steered them away. 

After a quarter of an hour, a mile from the shore, in the shade beside one of th ten dragoon ships, Leena stopped. She dumped the oar in the boat and began panting furiously. Her exhausted arms quivered. 

"How can any of you bear that heat, I wonder?" she said and ended with a rough cough that brought tears to her eyes. 

"Are you all right?" asked Glenn.

"I am, Glenn, thank you," she said with shaky hands covering her mouth. "I just needed to get away from the shore. I was barely breathing! It is no use. We can never get through Mount Pyre. Unless..."

"Unless we seek the Water Dragon God?" Serge finished. "It appears now that the question is no longer a matter of trust but of choice. And we have little to choose from."

"Or we can wait," suggested Leena. "The dragoons will not stay within forever. Lynx will have to come out eventually. Then we can confront him in open space."

"We can wait, but El Nido cannot," said Glenn. "Porre moves even as we speak."

"Should we trust her, then?" mused Leena. "That seems to me like the only way, although I remember much of the Water Dragon Isle is wasted. It's a barren land there."

"I say let our leader decide," said Kid, who had arms across her chest and who had kept unusually mum. "Where he chooses to go, we follow."

"What's wrong?" asked Serge.

Kid grunted, her face flushed as red as that of her wear. "What could be wrong? If you trust her that much, take her advice, then."

"Then I say we seek the Water Dragon God, is that fine with you Glenn?"

"You have my faith," pledged Glenn. "I shall follow you."

"Let us begin at the Water Dragon Isle."

An island once crowned with lush of greenery was now one that draped the yellow of withering. Each tree stood huddled amongst each other, and in such paleness they looked huddled in sickness and imminent death. Branch after branch their leaves were falling, layer after layer their colorless bark had peeled. When before the leaves served as shelter, in these trees colonies of birds built theirs nests and raised their young. This day, the dying branches were but the footrest of the passing flock of few. A great many trees had turned bald, and among those some had tipped, their crumbling roots too brittle to hold their massive weight. The mere fraction still struggling for survival against the harsh of the climate were fighting a losing battle. 

Dubbed the Land of Springs, the pure of water once filled its rivers, ponds and lakes while the blue of heavens mirrored on their surfaces. Fresh and fragrant had been the air that one could breathe, like the cool and sweet of the dew in the dawn of spring. And dawn on this island one could have savored day and through night. But the Water Dragon Isle had fallen prey to the fierce weather. Slowly, the lakes and rivers from which its name was earned had desiccated, leaving deep pits of a dirty, ugly brown. With little water, much of the once soft coat of grass had gradually died. In no more than ten years, the isle that was once host to a scenic paradise of flora and fauna had reduced to a wasted pile too painful to behold.

When Serge set foot on such an isle, he had little hope that the Water Dragon God would dwell in such unearthly grounds. He stared at the environs both in shock and in disappointment. He did not recall that the same isle in his world had such terrible ill befall onto it, an ill that looked as if almost all was being forcefully stripped bare from it.

"What happened to this place?" asked Serge.

"A pity," said Leena forlornly. "I recall the time when I visited this place with my parents. It used to be so beautiful. There! That was the lake I almost slipped into when I was wee tall. And there! A great big tree beneath which I told Dad that was where we would have our picnic someday. We never did; and now everything else is gone."

Leena turned to Serge, who tried hard to avoid her eyes. "All that is beautiful is gone," she continued with a sigh. "All that remains is my memory."

Guilt stirred beneath his chest. And for a moment, the name of her father struggled in his throat, as if it struggled to be free, to be spoken.

"I am not surprised we won't find that so-called Water Dragon God here," said Kid, who cast an intentional glance at Serge, as if she tried to remind him of her counsel. "Look at this mess here!"

Kid walked past Serge, intentionally crashing her arm into his. Serge choked at the pain and swallowed all words.

The four ventured further into the isle, negotiating pits of empty lakes as deep as six feet tall. As they paced across the hardened sand, dust and gravel scratched noisily beneath their feet. The rays of the noon sun bombarded mercilessly upon them, and the stifling heat of the land lingered and stuffed their nasals. 

A path cutting through a jungle of nearly bald trees led the companions into a clearing, in the middle of which the bare stem of a lone tree stood. The ground further beyond rose whilst the yellow of sand melted into the brown of the steep cliff, on it flourished a healthy pick of ferns and moss. The splash of green was to the eyes relief when all around it the many stretches of land saw the fading of life. But the same was to the mind mystery, a phenomenon incomprehensible by mortal logic. And more incomprehensible was an entrance carved into the cliff wall, an entrance sealed by what seemed like the clear block of ice. When touched by the light of day, its crystal clear surface scattered the sun's rays to a brilliant spectrum of flares, as if it did the same to its unforgiving heat. 

A group of men chipped away gently at the ground and cliff with hammer and chisels, each occupied in their task, oblivious to the four companions who had come around. Kid ran up the slope, up to the seal, and laid a hand on it.

"The hell?" she yelled. "It's bloody cold!"

Leena regarded at Serge and Glenn with uncertainty. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, she dashed to where Kid was and began fanning herself. 

"It's really cool here!" she exclaimed joyfully. "Come on up, you two!"

By now, the men who had been too busy at their chisel had taken notice of the company. 

"A very good afternoon, Sirs, Fair Ladies," greeted one, as he walked up to Serge and Glenn. "Travelers, are you not? Are you here to sight-see? There's nothing left to marvel save for this little mountain side cliff."

"We seek the Water Dragon God," said Glenn. "Might you be aware of its existence?"

"You are looking for the Water Dragon God, too?"

"'Too?'"

"We are explorers from the mainland of Zenan, fascinated by the stories of El Nido, particularly those about these Dragon Gods. Thus, we have been searching for the Water Dragon God many a year now. But it has since yielded nothing of interest. That cave over there, we believe that it once was the entrance to the Dragon God's abode. But now that it has been sealed by ice, there no longer is any way to enter. We've hacked, we've blasted. No luck. Hard as a diamond, or so they say. So are the walls of the cliff, impervious to all. No one knows how that ice came about. According to some Arnian folks on the mainland, that ice has been there for the past ten years, about the same time when life on this isle began to die. It seemed to have appeared overnight. And magically, I hear!"

"Ten years," said Serge. "Much can happen in ten years."

It began to dawn on him that the figure of ten that had been re-appearing throughout his journey seemed more than anything of a coincidence. 

"One can return to life in that time," finished Serge.

The explorer regarded Serge curiously. "I-I beg your pardon, Sir?"

"So," said Kid, as she jogged down to the men, "you don't really know if the Water Dragon God exists, do you?"

"Oh yes we know exists the Dragon Gods who, from what rumor tells us, can still be spotted now and then by the lucky eye. That the ice that should not be there is proof enough. We just don't know where He lives."

Kid grunted with disbelief. "It looks like we've been sent on a wild goose chase. What say you, Serge? Quite obviously, Harle can't be trusted."

"No, it is not a wild goose chase," said Serge as he looked up confidently with a gleam in his eye. "We just took the wrong fork." He turned to the explorer, bid him goodbye and wished them all a nice day. Then, quickly, he led his companions away from eyes and ears. The answer rang in his ears like the call of a voice that beckoned him. The answer charged his veins like the spark of intuition. He was all too certain where his feet would lead him. He was all too sure where the winds would blow, where the water flow.

"Wait up, you bloke!" yelled Kid, who tried hard to keep up. "Where the hell are you running to?"

"Come!" said Serge. "I'll show you! Where the Water Dragon God is!"

"What's in the world is the matter with you?" screamed Kid, exasperated.

"You'll find out when we get there."

The sun had fallen to mid-noon, its terrifying reign on the world slipping unhurriedly towards the horizon. As the disc of flames allowed despairingly the corners of the world to edge towards its demise, it watched with a keen glare the four travelers journey their distance on sea. As if wary of their undying resolve, it watched with them all a pair of unblinking eyes--one from the sky, the other from its reflection in the sea. And while it raged its assault on the lands and waters of the world, it left the air stiff and stale, choking on the lungs. It felt as if one were imprisoned between the ceiling of the sky and floor of the earth, as if locked away in tight quarters with no windows.

Less an a quarter of an hour since they left the shores of Water Dragon Isle, Serge had removed his bandana, under which his hair had been cooking from the heat, the strongest he felt in days in he spent this world. With a modest request and permission granted from the ladies on board, he removed his tops. Fire baked his torso whilst he rowed the companions to their destination, though much worse he would have to endure if he continued to don his vest of black. With a ventilated body came a calmer mind, with which he used to ponder over the day's events. Of the little that had occurred came the implications of a grander scale, all of which he traced to the divide of history a decade ago. Then again, as during every moment of his journey, he realized chillingly what little he knew of his own insignificant life, but how it dragged with it the fates of both worlds.

An hour into the journey, the shore of their destination slid towards them. A crowd of seagulls paraded the soft, white sands of the beach. Most hopped around on the beach, while others enjoyed a good bath and catch in the foaming waves. When the boat entered shallow waters, a small handful of the flock took off in a flutter to seek safer grounds, and above the travelers they flew towards the southern skies. The rest chose to remain, and with vigilance and care they watched.

"I see now," said Glenn, as their little boat closed toward the shore, "why you have brought us here."

"This is the cross point, isn't it?" said Kid, impressed. "Where even angels lose their way. The wormhole that connects the two worlds. But what makes you sure that the Water Dragon God exists in your world?"

"The isle is green with life, not yellow with death. If any place is possible, it's in my world."

"Then I can't wait to get to Serge's world!" exclaimed Leena, whose enthusiasm was bubbling like that of a little girl.

"Why is that?" asked Glenn.

"The weather there is just marvelous," replied Leena, her voice full of longing. "I find it hard to even describe to you. You'd have to feel it to like it!"

When the boat reached the shore of Opassa Beach, Serge dressed and the four alighted in the crowd of seagulls. Then, Serge walked to where he had been unconscious days before, where the door from this world opened to the other. This instant, the feathery flock that had chosen to stay now fled for the skies in a frantic departure, as if in their primal souls they sensed the coming of evil. Indeed, a shadow of green darkened against the white of sands when he approached, cast from nothing the naked eye could see. In its center a spot of jet black took form, within which the void of darkness could be felt from a good distance away. From the hole, flakes of white light drifted up aimlessly against the weight of fall, like the flight of little angels indeed lost and confused. And in his hands, the Astral Amulet turned warm, like the soft touch of another's hand that encouraged and led him towards the gate.

Serge gathered his team around the shadow, and said, "It might hurt. But nobody move until it's over, lest we reach the other world a limb short."

"Oi! Shouldn't we bring our boat across?" suggested Kid.

"It seems like a good idea," said Glenn, "since I would expect much to be different between this world and yours. It will save us time looking for transport. What will it be, Serge?"

"I do not suppose it will fit. I will not risk breaking it either way. Besides, we have transport available back home."

Serge bent and touched the Astral Amulet to the black hole, upon which water blast forth from the ground beneath them, shutting all within a column of spinning water. They soon plunged into darkness. Winds whistled past his ears, and when it gained strength, it howled like wolves in the late of night. Serge's body and soul stretched, as if they were about to tear. He gritted his teeth and endured the discomfort that seemed like the ripping of his muscles. Before long, the magic finished the last of its work, the veil of darkness lifted and revealed in all eyes the shapes and colors of Serge's World. 

"Welcome to my world," introduced Serge.

"Hah! That's it?" Kid smirked.

Glenn tried to speak, but his lips managed at best chatters.

"Glenn is speechless," said Leena with a proud grin. "But this is no big deal to me."

"It _is_ no big deal," Kid quickly added. "But to think that this other world really exists. You have got to see it to believe it."

"And I've seen nothing the likes of it!" exclaimed Glenn. "This world... So cool is the weather. And that long it has been since I have marveled at clouds in the sky!"

"See, Glenn? I told you!" said Leena who was all smiles.

"So, Serge," said Kid to Serge. "Paying a visit to your mom?"

"Just to let her know that I'm safe," said Serge. "From there, we take a ferry down south to the Water Dragon Isle."

"Welcome to Arni!" greeted a warm, familiar voice of the friendly old man at the gates of his home village. "Serge? Is that you? Been away days now. Everything all right?"

"Yes, I am, thank you," Serge replied with a smile.

The old man laughed heartily. "Livelier than ever, I see! Looks like traveling did you some good, eh? And I see you've got Leena with you on double dates, no? You cheeky little lad. But then, didn't I see you just at the pier, Leena? Ah! Forgive me! When you get old, you get mould, that's what they'll say. But it seems only yesterday I carried the both of you in my arms. Now, you're all grown up! Tell us when you two are ready to settle down, and we'll hold the grandest of weddings there is known to Arnian history."

Leena blushed. And under her breath she mumbled, "You are a little more talkative than I know, aren't you?"

"We have to go," said Serge, "I'll catch up with you again, when I return."

"But of course!" said the old man with laughter in his voice. "Don't let this old man hold you now! Go! Go!"

As Serge led his companions through his village, the odor of fish lingered heavily in the air, all too familiar to Serge's nose. What was to many an obnoxious stink was to Serge the magic of healing herbs, for it took away instantly troubles from his mind and all things too difficult to comprehend. When he stepped into his home, the wealth of sunlight that poured into the living room brightened his day. The voice of his mother seemed to his ears the gentle tinkles of a harp, her hug to him a symbol of strength and support. He said few words but with a big heart he said them adequately. After a short reunion, he left home satiated not with the fullness in his stomach, but in his heart. When he stepped out into the village, he saw in the village center the children run and laugh. And as they passed Serge they waved eagerly at him and at Leena. Serge returned with a smile and for a short, precious moment he found himself drowned in the innocence of their carefree joy. When he walked towards the sea, a soft, gentle breeze drifted in from the ocean, touched his face and like the cool of a morning mist it lifted his spirit and refreshed his soul. And as he stepped on to the sturdy pier, a slight drizzle began to fall.

Leena delighted herself in the light spray of shower, with a look on her face that seemed as if she wished to be pelted by a heavy storm.

"Look! It's raining!" she said with joy quivering in the tone of her words.

The other Leena--his childhood friend of seventeen years--who was spending her late afternoon gazing out lazily into the seas, took notice of the travelers, turned around and fixed her eyes on Serge. A sudden glow overwhelmed her face. And she dashed towards him, her footsteps thumped heavily on the woodwork, as if she were about to take down with her the entire pier. She halted barely a few feet from Serge, before she shyly lowered her gaze upon the moist brown of the planks. She reached for her neck and removed a necklace on which were chained the glittering of something familiar, something so beautiful that brought not the smile of awe but a rush of anxiety into Serge's heart.

"H-Hello, Leena," stammered Serge.

"I cannot believe my eyes," whispered Glenn, whose eyes examined the splitting image of his traveling companion.

"Look at this!" said his childhood friend. "My Komodo scale necklace. _Our _Komodo scale necklace. Beautiful, isn't it? Set it against the light and you see them sparkle! I finished it while you were away journeying. Now, I want you to have it. Take it, go on! Accept it like you will accept my apologies for how I reacted that day; how I overreacted. Take it!"

Leena stuffed the necklace into Serge's hands.

"These are your friends?" she said.

It was here that Serge wondered how the two Leena's had not yet seen each other. He turned around only to discover that Leena from the other world had hidden behind Serge's frame. She peeked over his shoulder, at the sight of which Serge's childhood friend gave a shocking gasp. Words failed her, and instantly the glow on her face had fled, as if it did from a terrifying ghost; pallor then washed up her neck, as if she were now the ghost.

"T-That girl... she looks like me!" said his childhood friend.

"Hel-lo!" greeted the other world's Leena with a stiff wave. "I'm Leena. Same name as you, quite obviously, but perhaps not to you. I, eh, I come from another world! A-another universe! We look the same and exactly the same because I'm like a mirror image of you, really. But it's deep and difficult to explain all at once. Serge! He can. He'll explain it to you, once this is all over, won't--"

"What the--" interrupted a voice that came from an old man who had been sitting at the end of the pier. Now, he sat with his head turned from his fishing line, a pipe fallen from his opened mouth. He stared wide-eyed at both Leenas. "Oh my freaking God save the freaking Beachbum. Is it me? Or are those twins?"

"They look the same," said Serge. "But really they are both different people."

"Save the explanation, Serge," conceded the fisherman quickly. He turned away, blinked his eyes and frowned. "I'm afraid my old heart can't take none of this!"

"I will. But I will also need your help to ferry us to the Water Dragon Isle. We can pay for your services."

"Both your father and I go way back, so don't be talking to me about money here. To the Water Dragon Isle, it is! I won't take a single gold from you or your mateys back there. But what business might you four have at the Water Dragon Isle? There's no treasure to hunt. There sure is no Water God to pray to."

"Our business there, too, takes time to explain," said Serge.

"In that case, I'd best not be asking too much!" laughed the fisherman. "Hop on then, travelers! Safe and comfortable will be your journey, I guarantee!"

"Thank you. You have my gratitude."

This while, Serge felt a cold hand lay on his arm. He turned to see beside him his childhood friend with a look of deep concern.

"Are you leaving again? Why don't you take a rest at home for the night? I can cook you some of your favorite dishes." She cast a quick furtive glance at the other Leena.

"I'm sorry, but I have urgent matters to attend to," explained Serge.

"Not even if I ask of you to stay?"

"I must go, Leena."

"I see. I don't know what's going on, but take care," said his world's Leena. Then she snatched the rainbow necklace from Serge's hand and tied it around his wrist. "You now have my best of luck and I can count on you to keep it safe, can't I?"

"Well, er, yes, of course," stuttered Serge, who, at that moment felt the sharp of cold stares pricking at his back. As Leena secured a knot of the necklace, in Serge's already difficult web of troubles she created many more of them, tight and entwined beyond disentanglement.

Serge urged his companions on board. As Kid hopped on the fisherman's boat, he saw between her brows deep creases of a tough frown, and saw in her blue eyes flames of resentment.

"Big man, he was, your father," said the fisherman, who had spent half the trip reliving sailing stories between Wazuki and himself. "Our catch for the day was _this _wide, and he broke no sweat hauling on it his shoulder, and then hanging it up to the village hammock, all by himself. I would think he had the strength to carry the two of me up if he wanted!"

"I remember very little of him," said Serge forlornly. "I wish he were still alive today. All these could all have been avoided."

"Fourteen years it has been, Serge! But I believe in fate--when your time comes, ain't no stopping it. Your father's time has come to him. Not you, not me can change that. You should take comfort in knowing that your father lived out his life fully. Unlike the rest of us folks in the village, he never wasted one moment. He had no regrets, I'm sure, to have done what he did to save your life. So don't go blaming yourself!"

"I understand. Even Mom refuses to talk about it. She wants me to forget, I suppose. And I did for the past fourteen years, but only to recall that tragedy at such a time."

"What makes you say such a thing?"

"I know that I must come to know of the truth someday, but the time of my knowledge is strange, almost uncanny. Something's happening, or at least so I think. Something huge, something dark."

"You lost me there, son. Does it have anything to do with the trip down to the Water Dragon Isle?"

"It has everything to do with everything. And every one of us travelers on board."

The fisherman cast a curious glance at the other three companions.

"Now that you say," said the fisherman who had his eyes on Glenn, "I haven't seen much of such armor these couple of years. You can't be from the Porre army, now, can you?"

"I am a member from the Acacia Dragoons," said Glenn. "May I ask what might have had you refer to Porre instead?"

"Ah, yes! The dragoons!" exclaimed the fisherman. "No wonder I thought your armor looked familiar. Pardon me. I've long forgotten about them since that blasted Porre took over three years ago. These days the military walks around in blue, and no longer in armor. And they carry these short fishing poles that kill with a shot! 'Rifles' they call them! Once or twice in the beginning I've seen them use it. Bloody is all I can say! They've stopped shooting for a long while now, but I've never stopped hating those spineless bastards. Just talking about them gets me boiling."

"But there's something I do not understand--Porre took over El Nido?" asked Glenn.

"Glenn," explained Serge, "the dragoons disappeared from El Nido just about three years ago. No one knows where they went or what had happened to them. Not all has gone though: Sir Radius, who has retired four years ago, is now chief of my village. Not even he seems to know what had happened, but everyone can tell that he is deeply saddened by the loss of the dragoons. He can be seen gazing into the sea in quiet solitude, and very often for the past few weeks."

"It is little wonder," said Glenn. "The time of the Viper Festival approaches this time of year. Like all other devas, Sir Radius loves the celebration. He does not have a family of his own, so the dragoons to him are his family. The general is to him his brother just as Riddel is to him, his own daughter."

Glenn paused and silence reigned. But at length, he spoke.

"So, it does not seem that all is wonderful in this world," concluded Glenn pragmatically. "Porre now rules this world with its might. And in time, Porre will rule the other. But have you, Serge, by any chance, heard news of my brother in this world?"

"Sir Dario? No, I haven't."

Glenn fell disappointedly silent.

"This world? The other world? What in the world!" interrupted this fisherman, confused.

"Would you care to hear an explanation?" asked Serge.

"No, from the looks on all your faces. Spare me that agony!"

"Then would you also promise to keep all that I have told you from Mom?"

"Only if you promise to let her know yourself."

"Yes, I will. But not now."

In an hour the gentle sun would set below the covers of the horizon, and into slumber the world would slip. On the sea, its reflection glittered as if at that distance lie a rich scatter of gold and silver. The orange veil of dusk had already begun to pull its cover over the lands, the trees and the four seas. Clouds drifted in streaks across the northern and eastern skies. More had amassed a formidable swell to the southeast, where the gray mist of rain like a curtain screen had shrouded that far edge of the world. There, an occasional bolt glowed in the heavens and the seas, then long moments later came the low rumbling of thunder. In this part of the world, however, the drizzle persisted in length and small strength, but now accompanied by the chill of gusty winds.

Once more the companions of four set their foot upon the grounds of Water Dragon Isle, this time in Serge's world. A tensed gap had wedged itself between the four and had set them apart in mind, if not in distance. But tension lifted when the eyes of the three who came from the other world marveled at the contrast of this place. The trees on this isle grew in health and in abundance, and looked like the tall pillars of a castle. Their long branches stretched like strong arms, and on them they bear the crown of the isle that glimmered in green, even with the coming of dusk. Under the protective arms, a soft carpet of grass thrived, stretched across the isle from edge to edge. From the burgeoning crowns, the winds plucked the leaves and showered them on the isle, as if autumn had arrived on this land. 

Deeper within the isle where the forests of trees had opened to ponds and lakes, life prospered under the tint of golden sunset. Water trickled down terraces to pond and in tiny streams from ponds to lakes, some as wide as several hundred feet. Water lilies of darkened blue and red blossomed on their surfaces, while a gathering of hyacinths of washed blue populated in the calm of one small bay. Shrubs of papyrus crowded at the many edges of the lakes, amongst them an occasional pickerel with flowers of soft yellow blossomed. A giant turtle feasted slowly on an undisturbed bank a diet of fallen leaves, while schools of fishes swam busily in the lakes, twisting and turning over a bed grown with the abundance of leafy ferns and grass.

Further into the isle the companions walked, until they came to the clearing where the lone tree stood. It sprouted healthy leaves, and under its shade a habitat of poppycock gently swayed. Beyond the lone tree the land rose, and on its peek the same cavern overgrown with the lush of ferns and moss stood. In this world, however, its door was unsealed and inviting.

"There," said Serge as he pointed. "The entrance into the cavern of the isle where the Dragon God might dwell."

Kid jogged to it and investigated with thieving instincts her environs. After she signaled to her companions, she entered the cavern on swift, silent feet. When Serge entered, his eyes fed with awe the sights in it. Mist drifted and thrust and rolled low on the ground, as if he walked on clouds. Shards of crystallized ice poked through the rocky ceiling and the ground, as if like bushes and thickets they grew. Flakes of white fell like snow from the ceiling, and in the darkness they magically glowed, as if stars fell from the heavens. Even as Kid led the company further into the cavern, the fair light never once dimmed or blinked. Their path soon turned and fell several feet. Thereafter, one step after another it descended lower, until it walked the companions to an archway where the mist had turned thick as a fog.

The four entered the archway that tunneled through the ground. As they walked they put a hand on the moist walls, for the cold fog blurred their vision many feet ahead. Many steps after twisting and turning, the fog cleared. They emerged in a room shaped as a dome, in the middle of the which, a huge dragon creature rested its rounded chin on its arms. A stream of river flowed around the dragon's bed of stone, and from it cold mist boiled and bubbled. But all eyes fell on the creature, whose shape resembled that of a toad, but whose size swelled to a high of ten feet and a long of twenty. A shimmering blue coated its wrinkled skin, as if underneath it surged the blue of water. Every breath it took, a resounding gurgle shook the room; every breath it expelled, it expelled more clouds of mist.

"What in the blazes is that?" asked Kid.

"Could that be the Water Dragon God?" Glenn.

"_That_?" Kid. "It's one nasty looking God."

"One shall not judge a book by its cover, young lady," it spoke with a voice, stern and grave.

Kid frowned, unimpressed.

The Dragon God opened its eyes and observed the little beings before him. Slowly, it raised its head and shifted its eyes, until it fell heavily on Serge. It watched, scanned and then with a squint it shot a glance at Serge, sharp and cold like the blade of a sword. Serge felt a curt twinge in his left arm, as if it were sliced by the well-wielded steel. A clutch of pain gripped his shoulder, the sudden jerk having strained his muscles. Beatings assailed his arm in waves and throbs, like the punch of an enemy who attacked where it hurt most. Yet, under the intensity Serge maintained his unwavering stand. He met the dragon eye to eye, until the mammoth being's lips stretched to an approving smile. 

"Welcome, Serge," said the creature warmly. "Now, come towards me. You need not explain yourself. I know already what you seek here. There is naught to be surprised about. It is but a trifle for us Sleeping Dragons who have dwelt upon this land for ages." 

"You are the Dragon God indeed?" asked Serge.

"Many think that we have perished; many more think we are but mere legends. But this day, I appear in mind and in body before your very eyes. It is not for you to choose to believe; believe you must! For only with my guidance will you safely walk through Mount Pyre, home to the Fire Dragon. Unless you quench his red blazes, it will prove an impossible journey. Take my blessings that will freeze even the melting of lava."

The fresh of morning wakening suddenly flowed in Serge's veins, as if he had rested for hours without the bat of an eye. The sharp pain in Serge's arm numbed and then, gradually receded, as if his arm were healed by a touch, awkward yet magical. Around him and around his companions a warm aura of azure bathed them, and through it Serge's world had turned a soft, pale blue. For that moment, his head swam behind his eyes, as if he now sat in the boat rocking upon bumpy waves. Serge blinked his eyes and away the light faded. He shook his head, and shook away the feeling of disarray. Yet, as the magic faded in sight and touch, an unsettling stir welled up in his heart, as if he anticipated a feeling of ill that was to come. 

Leena and Glenn drew breaths and looked at each other, as if puzzled, yet as if astonished. Only Kid stood her ground, arms folded across her chest, unfazed by all that had happened before her.

"Only one trip it shall avail you to and from Mount Pyre," said the Dragon God, "and one is all you need."

Gentle silence fell, save for the soft bubbling of mist around the Water Dragon God. But soon, the Dragon God prompted, "Speak your mind, as you would to a dear friend."

"We found you only in my world but not in the other," said Glenn respectfully. "Why do the Dragon Gods, or at least you, the Water Dragon God, exist in only one, world when all other mortals live on in either?"

"A great misfortune befell upon the Dragon Gods of this world--Serge's world--ten years before when the one world divided in twain. Into thin air they vanished, not by their choice, but by a twist of events. For bound were their fates to a chain; a chain that, too, disappeared from this world. But these two worlds were bound to each other like heaven is to earth, like sibling is to another. Obligated are we to oversee each world. Thus, the Dragon Gods of the other world chose to divide our presence, three to each world: the Water, Earth, and Green in this world; the Sky, Shadow and Fire in the other."

"Then tell us," asked Kid boldly, "why have you hidden your great, fat arse from us folks?"

"To hide is an act of cowardice. To stay unseen is one of deliberation. We Sleeping Dragons have long chosen not to show ourselves but to live on in songs and in lore. Those who believe in us shall find their spirits fulfilled; those who do not live their lives the lesser. Yet, blessed are them all with no prejudice, even in our absence. But now the tide turns, the moon shifts, and the hour has come when the crimson star will rise in the eastern sky. Great evils soon will befall, all of which you must bear. For the Dragon Gods to stay unseen would be to stay hidden. Rather, we shall wake and see all through these dark times."

"Why then have you granted Lynx and Harle your blessings?" added Glenn. "Surely you must be aware of their dark schemes."

"Darker than the dark of night! Treachery must be dealt not with folly but with diligence. We must look many steps ahead, for evil is already there. See not of the blessing as an aid to evil, but its defeat that shall come in due time. All that now remains is you, Serge. To hide or to show yourself is left for you to decide. Will you change this world or will this world change you? Will you live with your mother planet or will you turn your back on the planet and tread another path?"

Serge swallowed past a lump in his throat. He was uncertain if the Dragon God spoke of encouragement or otherwise. But he was sure more troubles now lay on his already troubled mind.

"You will find out soon enough. Now go!"

Kid left the Dragon God's dwelling as unsettled as she expected Serge to be. A part of her was in denial that ever such a divine being could exist, when she spent most of her life believing otherwise. Gods, angels and the likes of it all were figments of imaginations by living people, wishful thinking or otherwise. So sure she was of her own belief that she still insisted that what she had seen and spoken with must have been an oversized toad, swelled to such a size by the luxury of feasting. So sure she was that those spirits that she had seen aboard the S. S. Invincible must have been dust and fog coincidentally shaped by the wind to take the form of living beings. Yet, she imposed none of these beliefs on her companions, at least not for the moment, for they looked hopelessly smitten by the hideous being who called itself a god.

The other part of her saw Serge's eyes, which spoke of woes borne upon his young shoulders. One after another they had come to him as towering waves, and one after another he stood bravely against them. Even when the waves slammed down onto him, he refused to fall beneath its crushing weight. He kept the burdens to himself and saved none for the rest of his company. So small he had become in Kid's eyes in the fight against the colossal that he seemed like a crab that scuttled hopelessly against the tide of life. Yet so large he had become in her heart that he was to her a hero of sorts, a man she so admired. And so large he was that it tore her knowing she could help in nothing. And torn she was when her eyes fell upon the Komodo scale necklace on his wrist. She wrestled with her feelings but eventually wrenched her gaze away.

The company made camp in the shelter of the cavern, furthest from the Dragon's dwelling. Serge and Glenn started a fire that burned readily above the mists flowing on the ground. Leena served dry rations while Kid kept vigilant watch. Two hours after the sun had set, the drizzle stopped. Within the cavern the fair light of magic glowed from the flakes of ice, each drifting down like feathers, gentle and light. But through the cavern mouth, the black of night beyond gaped, as if the world outside was a world now trapped with a cavern. 

After dinner she leaned against the cavern wall, a good distance from Serge. Her eyes wandered inch to inch in the cavern ceiling, while her mind dreamt about Lynx's fall. She would not let him off easily, and she must deliver unto him by the skilful thrust of her dagger the most painful death. She could see the agony in his face, with a satisfaction that curled her lips wryly. She could hear him begging for death before the darkness would claim him. She could feel a rush in her veins, and already her fingers itched for the hilt. 

It had only been five years ago, some would say. But long and lonely were those years for Kid, each day as long as a wretched lifetime. She recalled all that happened that fateful night, a night she could and would never forget.

That awful night began with Sis' peculiar behavior, speaking to herself in her own room. When Kid stole a glance into her room, she saw in Sis' eyes pallor of fear, and a gun gripped tightly in her hand to be used against no one Kid could see. Though sanity seemed to have forsaken Sis, Kid knew concern and love and assurance would bring them back to her. Yet, before she could offer words to warm and calm Sis' heart, she was shut out from the room, as she was shut from Sis' world.

Then moment the demi-human entered their house, he had entrenched his rotten feet deep into her life. He came not asking for riches but the key to a mysterious Frozen Flame, caged behind locks. His talk confused the eleven-year-old girl, as much as the catch of his gaze terrified her. It cuffed her hands and legs and froze her every motion, however hard she tried to resist. When Sis refused the key, the demi-human came for her hungrily, and settled his furry paws on her neck, its claws pricking into her skin. Then, he lifted her up by her neck. 

Kid's throat dried, and she felt as if her eyes were about to burst. She tried to scream, but heard no words through her cords. 

Sis demanded Lynx to cease. But when her demands went unheard, she ran to him and pulled and yanked him by his dark, bulky uniform even if his weight was too much for her strength. Lynx swung his free paw into Sis's face and sent her flying many feet back. Sis tumbled to the ground with a crash and a subdued yell. But against the pain, Sis leapt to her feet and charged towards Lynx. She pounced onto his back with stare of fury and the dark of lunacy in her eyes, and with a powerful arm, she crunched Lynx at his neck. This instant, Lynx dropped Kid and struggled against his assailant on his rear.

Kid, powerless and petrified, could only sit on hurt bottoms and watch terror unfold.

Lynx ran backwards, and in his effort to loose his attacker, he threw his mass against the wooden wall, slamming Sis into it. The wall shook and cracked and dust fell from the ceiling, while lamps, knocked off their hook, fell and crashed. Flames exploded and towered and consumed. Concerned not of the fire and only with his aims, Lynx crushed mercilessly his enemy between his body and the breaking wall. Yet, with her legs locked around Lynx's waist, Sis' held stubbornly fast, even if her eyes had rolled up and even if she was falling into unconsciousness. Her thick, dark-rimmed glasses slipped off her nose and left behind a bruised and battered face. Blood trickled from her mouth, but not even a shriek of pain escaped her tightened lips. And one more time when Lynx slammed, the weakened wall gave way. Lynx fell back to the ground with Sis crushed beneath him.

Meanwhile the flames devoured the home as if it did Kid's life. Room after room the fire spread, carpet over carpet its legs walked, and wall upon wall it slapped its long, ugly fingers. On the ceiling a horrifying sea of flame raged and eroded. Soon a portion of the burning ceiling fell before her eyes and crashed heavily on the ground, sending up flakes of burning splinters. Walls softened, turned to ash and crumbled upon themselves. Edges of canvas of drawings curled at the lick of the flame, while paintings fell from melting hooks. Smoke rose and clouded, choking her nose and drying an already sore throat. 

All around, her friends screamed, some for fear, some for Sis. Some ran, some fled, and others desperately cried and jumped for attention behind traps of flames. Kid struggled up, and on her fours she crawled around and helped her friends out of traps. But as the fire spread, it cornered some into hopelessness and took many more silently into its light of gold. She tore herself decisively away from the dread and fumbled back to where Lynx and Sis lied. Fear turned to terror when she discovered neither of them there, but Sis' thick glasses. She forged further on her fours until she came to a door. She pushed while the heat on it scalded her hands. Beyond the door in the far wall of the room, she saw Lynx unscathed amongst the flames, looking out into dark of night through a window and supporting Sis by her waist. 

Then, he turned to Kid with a grin on his face, sly as that of a fox.

Kid opened her eyes to the campfire dancing in her eyes to find that she had fallen asleep against the cavern wall. She rubbed her eyes and her cheeks of the tears, even if she could not rub the soreness in her heart at the end of the dreadful memory.

"What happened?" asked Serge, who walked to her and sat beside her.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" she asked. 

"I heard you crying for 'Sis,'" he said. "Is there anything that I can help?"

Kid sighed softly. She picked up a leaf from the ground threw it into the campfire and then stared long into it. 

"Kid?" spoke Serge again. "Are you alright?"

Kid stood and walked out of the cavern under the glittering stars. She gazed at the silver moon, half shining in light, half blended into the night. She stared at the smaller red, partially hidden within the shadow of its brighter counterpart. She ventured four steps more, before she realized she could not bear the emptiness of darkness chewing at her heart. She retreated and leaned her back on one side of the entrance, where at least she could see light from within the cavern in her eyes and the ground beneath her feet.

Serge joined her and leaned against the other side of the entrance, facing her. 

"I had a dream again. The same dream every time."

Serge listened attentively, and with his gentle eyes he encouraged her to continue.

"It may be time I told you this, Serge," she said. "I was an orphan. I was abandoned when I was a baby. There was someone who took me in and raised me as if I were her own little sister. I'm alive here today thanks to her. There were a lot of others like me at Sis's Orphanage of the Flame. 

"Sis was always making strange stuff. Call her an inventor, call her a scientist. 'A mad scientist am I. Mad but great,' she would often laugh and say. She made things and sold them for a living. She even wrote things she called theories and had them published. She conducted at him her experiments that probably only the smartest can understand. Many times they didn't work. But she would try and try again until they worked, or until she realized she's barking up the wrong tree. Many times the devices she boasted would save the world ended up in the dump. But she was hardly discouraged.

"We were always poor, but we--my friends and I--were all happy. Up until that Lynx bastard came. Five years ago, he raided our house and kidnapped Sis. The orphanage went up in flames. So did many of my friends. Sis... She never came back."

Tears welled in Kid eyes. She turned to the light in the cavern, anxious to hide her weakness from him. But they flowed and rolled down her cheeks disobediently.

"Kid..." said Serge softly.

Kid swallowed hard to contain her sadness and warmth and touch by his voice.

"Since then," she continued, "I've wandered the world and experienced so much pain. Just to get by. No one was there to help me. I was always alone. If you ask me, the idea of guardian angels watching over us all the time, that's a load of rubbish!

"In this world, the underhanded always gets the last laugh. Only the ones who don't think anything of hurting others are the ones who get blood-stained fortunes. The ones who kill, the ones who devour, they're the ones who survive. That's the only rule of this world. The great species of man? Our wonderful world, filled with love and happiness? Don't make me laugh! But if that's how it is, that's fine with me. As long as I'm alive, there ain't no going back. I'll abide by this world's rules, and do what I got to do despite the _rotten _hand of cards I've been dealt. I'll make sure that bloody bastard pays for what he's done! I will get mean! I will get even!"

Kid was carried away and was lost in grief and denial. Vulgarities blemished the sentence of every ferocious thought in her mind, and the foul of them all she so desired to spew. Her consciousness snapped back to reality, when suddenly she was given an embrace. That instant, fury overwhelmed her, for she did not realize from whom came the audacious touch of flesh. But at the sight of Serge's bandana she calmed and let the fleeting moment of rage pass. For the first time, she felt in whole his concern at her cheek, her arms, and from her chest deep beneath it. She felt his support that was to her warm and secure, as if it were to hold her from slipping into despair, slipping away from him. 

"Kid..." he spoke with a voice, gentle, unwavering, "I will help you in every way I can. That I can promise, if only you will promise me this: When this is all over, allow me to show you that the world is still beautiful."

"Already it is, Serge!" Kid sobbed softly on hearing the simple, wonderful words. "Already it is!"

The two started a fire near the beach. They lied on their backs and nursed their tears while they stargazed.

"There's nothing between me and Leena. Both Leenas."

"What makes you say that?"

"I was afraid you'd be hurt."

"What about that necklace?"

"The necklace means to me nothing more than friendship for Leena. If you would like me to take it off, I will."

When Serge began to untie the knot, Kid laid a hand on his wrist. 

"Don't!" she said. "Leave it on. It means the world to her."

"It'll mean nothing to me if you are upset. You looked terrible this afternoon."

"Look, I'd be frank with you," she said calmly. "I knew about you and your childhood friend in this world, but I had no idea how close the two of you were. And you, Serge, never told me nothing. I was upset and angry."

"I'm sorry."

"No. I am! I never felt anything like that before, so I didn't know how to handle it. But hey, I'm fine now!"

Part of her understood that she lied, but she did only not to trouble Serge. Already those he had to face now were more than he could handle. The other part of her would really love to see that necklace taken off and tossed far away into the seas. And let it be lost amidst the vastness! For the scales were to her a thorn in her flesh, scratching and pricking ceaselessly; its splash of colors a veil pulled over to blind Serge from ugly truths within, that ultimately meant that its owner never once was suitable for him. So this while she became aware of the bitter feelings of jealousy, whose lingering after-tastes swelled beyond her heart and the darkest thoughts of selfish rivalry. But eventually, she wrenched herself away from the tempting desires to, with all measures despicable or otherwise, steal Serge away. No good it would bring but another obstacle to their difficult journey.

"Oi, Serge. You now know a lot about me, don't you?"

"What about?"

"About me and my Radical Dreamers."

"There's still plenty that I do not."

"Like what?"

Serge rolled to face her and on his arm he supported his head.

"Well..., like the name 'Radical Dreamers.' Are there many of you?"

"There's only one who started Radical Dreamers. You can say that the name was inspired by Sis. She once said, 'From fish to ape, from ape to man, we have always been dreamers of life.' I haven't the slightest idea what she meant then, but I thought I belonged to one of those who dreamt of leading a proper life. So I started out stealing for myself. Later, I began donating loot to the charity, because I thought there must be many who are more unfortunate that I am. Couple of years ago I got in a few of us, but they turned their backs on me. Bloody bastards they were--squealed on me. I was put behind bars, but, you know, nothing can keep me in for long. I fled. Since then, it's I, my, me."

Kid paused in thought.

"Until now," she said softly and she glanced at Serge. "You won't let me down, will you?"

Serge hesitated. "Do you remember the dream I once told you about?"

"What dream?"

"I will hurt you. I will stick a dagger into you and then I will watch you bleed."

Kid snorted. "Don't go worrying about no dream. Haven't you heard? Dreams are fake." 

"After all that has happened, you still cannot believe? Kid, in that dream I saw your face and the same clothes you wear now, before I even met you."

Kid laughed derisively. "When the worst comes, I'll just have to kill you," she joked.

"You do, Kid, you do. Otherwise it'll be you."

"Come on! Don't sound like you'd really poke me. I have my trust in you, so don't go denting it now."

They spent the next few hours on the beach, talking and chatting about their strange and sorrowful pasts. Time flew, and soon the first of light broke in the east. The dark of blue slowly swept across the dome, as it did over the vast ocean. Patches of clouds blotted the sky, while a gray mass of them could be seen still gathered far in the southeast. Half of an hour into dawn, the sun peeked from the rim of the world, as it slowly made its laborious climb into the sky. Its light cast the color of life into the trees, the sand and the living things, as it resurrected the earth from the dead of night. An eagle descended from its swift flight and disappeared into the forests of the isle, from which flocks of birds took to the skies.

Then, from amongst the waking trees came two anxious voices calling for their names.

"Serge! Kid!" screamed Leena and Glenn.

Said Serge to Kid, "It's time to go."

She raised her brows. Unhurriedly she stood up, hands to her waist, gazing beyond the blue of the skies.

"Showdown time," she said.


	18. Book 2 Chapter 8 The Sacrament

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**Book 2**

**8   The Sacrament**

he companions of four tunneled through the distortion at Opassa Beach and out of its other end they emerged into this other world. But this other world, home to three of the four, greeted them with a hot morning, as if it ridiculed them with hostility. The stifling air clogged their nasals, while the burning sands nipped at their feet. The great sea to their south wavered in the heat while the waves rolled in and out of the shores slowly, as if meekly. The great dome of blue from which the fierce sun held sway was unblemished by the grey of clouds, as it was unadorned by the white. Yet, in amidst the daunting hindrances set against them by some will unknown, a symbol of hope remain: their flimsy sailboat docked safely in the sands, as if it waited faithfully for the company's return.

"You can still choose," said Serge suddenly. He turned to Leena, his expression grave. "If you don't wish to be involved, please go home. It's only a short walk from here. But the road we take is dangerous. It will be a lifetime for me to bear, if anything should happen to you when you, least of us all, need to fight."

Leena pressed her lips and was silent for a moment. Then, as if she made up her mind, she strode resolutely toward the wooden boat and pushed it with her might into the water. "Let's go, Serge, Kid, Glenn. I'm not turning back now. Give me a hand, will you?"

The company boarded the boat and began their sail towards Mount Pyre.

The weight Serge bore in his shoulders had grown heavier by the day and was now growing unbearable by the moment. 

Within him once lay a sapling from which he had hoped truth would sprout. But that hope that had branched and swelled beyond him and the rules of the world had left him punctured, utterly wounded in heart and mind. The stars were no longer shimmering jewels in the dark of night, but glimmers of failing hope in bleak times. The moons were no longer batting eyes of silver and red, but cowards who seized the dim of shadow to empower the world. The sun was no longer the yellow father of warmth, the giver of life, but a cold measure of the passing days, months and those long years. They all now cast a different light on all that walked under them, a light that seemed gloomy and shady. Gone and never to return were the days when ignorance was bliss, when simple was nothing short of beautiful. This instant, one edge of the world was closing on him from behind while he chased the other. It felt as if it was giving him less to breathe and less on which he could stand. It felt as if it was after his life. 

But into his life came Lavos, a being he could only imagine as a drawing over white paper, ever so distant, ever so fictional. Then from fantasy and the dream of ignorance he woke to face a divine being, a Dragon God of the six, beings that had been nothing more than legend for ages known. But none of these, like any part of his story that began a week ago, were anything to laugh or cry for. Till this day, events in his life had been unfolding swiftly and callously. Yet, each revelation on its own seemed no more than a small part of a long, endless thread, each part leading merely and necessarily to the next. On this thread, he precariously balanced and walked its narrow path. It would take only a lapse in his concentration, a biased tip and he would plunge to somewhere worth little of mention. And this thread, like a living being, had intentions of it own. So it had chosen to involve him in this circus show beyond the greatest proportions, but it too had chosen to command the show to its own strange whimsies. Serge had little choice in matters. 

But in all that dread came something unmistakably dear to him. He found a worthy comrade in Kid, and much more than a friend in her deep blue eyes. In him he felt this throbbing he would describe, in his own words, a bond, however undeserving he knew this word was. It was none of that looking forward to a stroll down the beach hand-in-hand, but the experience of the sharing of minds, as if they were one. Indeed, he found somewhere in him her emotions--anxiousness, anger, anticipation--thumping with each beat of his heart. Perhaps her emotions had found him. And even though it had only been a short time, it pointed to him a great future, one that he wished he were already there. If all else in the world were reduced to the cold of the unfeeling, he knew where he could find warmth. If this marvelous woman was not worth a drop of his blood, then nothing else in this world was worth a tear.

"Until the end of the time, Kid," said Serge. "Whatever happens, I'm with you."

That brought a shy smile to Kid, even if all this while she had between her brows darkened furrows of vengeance.

"Let us not say such things now," Glenn advised. "Ill will it is."

"Right! But no," muttered Leena conspicuously. "Leave all these goodbyes till we finish Lynx. Bad, r_eal _bad!"

Leena received a nudge from Glenn at the knee, at which she fell silent and embarrassed. 

Too soon, the ships of the military rose over the rim of the world. Thereafter the dark peaks of the fiery cavern followed as it climbed swiftly into the skies, while its shore edged towards them. Its dreary, weathered slopes faltered behind the fury of the heat, like rocks did beneath the surface of water. Quickly, the empowering grey of the mountains drowned their world under a mystic cover, and turned the world in their eyes a sight, washed and discolored. While the past days of his journey seemed to have taken more time than it did, this moment fleeted past in an instant that was to be caught by no eyes or hands. This while, they rode upon the waves of the sea like a bird borne on the winds in swift flight.

Mount Pyre greeted the travelers with a gaping mouth into its cavern, from which a hot red that glowed steadily upon its walls could be seen. But while wave upon wave of heat gushed forth from the mountain within, the magic of the Water Dragon God worked on the companions silently. As their boat struck gently the dull, colorless shores, within themselves they felt a sense of serenity softly rippling, and felt in their hearts inexplicable warmth. Tears came to Leena. She shut her eyes tight while the tears trickled, and to her chest she placed both her clasped hands, as if in a prayer of gratitude. To Serge, he felt suddenly detached from the gloom around him. He felt as if he now stood on a low mound and overlooked a meadow of a sea of green, where upon its surface the winds leisurely grazed and swept. So at ease was his mind he was tempted to sit in the boat forever and be content not pursuing the truth.

"Oi, snap out of it!" growled Kid as she snapped her finger at Leena. 

"But why?" Leena opened her eyes to ask. "I was only saying a prayer!"

"Were you? You look to me like you've been charmed."

"But don't you feel it, Kid?" cried Leena. "I've never believed in Gods and Goddesses my entire life. When the villagers talk of praying and what-not, I scoffed at them. I told even my own mother, that all these talk of religion are all in one's mind. But t-this... I've never felt anything that lovely, that pure. It cannot be just 'all in one's mind'; it makes me _want _to believe! Don't you even feel it at all?"

Serge plucked himself from his dreams and was almost in agreement with Leena.

"I feel it," Kid acknowledged, but remained unimpressed. "But I'm afraid I'm not as agreeable as you are about the Dragon Gods. Help or not, I wonder. Stand firm and don't be swayed by magic or whatever nonsense they call it. Trust me when I say: you earn what you work for; nothing comes free, not even protections from that Great Fat Toad."

Leena frowned, wiped the tears and retorted to defend her stand, "Can you tell me what could the Dragon God be scheming, if that is what you are implying!?"

"Calm down. Now you are getting emotional," said Kid.

"I am not emotional!"

Then Glenn spoke. "Kid is right. Let us not overreact, but forge ahead with due diligence. This must not divide us now. For within the Ring of Death, the enemy waits."

"The last we want now is slip-ups," warned Kid sternly. "Come on. Let's get our behinds moving."

Leena cast a furious glance at Glenn in obvious protest. But almost instantly after their gaze met, she conceded and slouched in surrender. Even so, like a child who could not get what she wanted, she remained discontented.

If the heat failed to burn Serge, guilt and embarrassment burned his ears. And while the rest set their feet on the darkened shore, Serge spent a moment in self-reprimand, for he, too, felt overpowered by the magic of the Dragon God. At length, he stood from his seat and without a word, he alighted the boat while Kid observed her companion closest to her with a wary eye.

The companions walked steadily deeper into the cavern of fire, and eventually left the last ray of sunlight from the outside world behind them. Cast against the chunky walls, the fiery light seemed to bring to life outlines of gruesome faces. Where it seemed like eyes from which the face watched, the rocks glowed brilliantly. Where it seemed like the mouth with which the face cried in agony, the rocks hid from the fires a dark, unnerving, depthless shadow. From the ceiling hung long, dark stalactites and from the ground hung long, dark stalagmites, as if they were sets of teeth of a mouth larger than the painful faces. The cavern that stank foul of hatred and pain also echoed within its walls the relentless fury of nature. For now and then, loud explosions rocked the cave. But fury knew no rest, for its ceaseless strength rumbled the grounds, beneath which temperatures must further soar, and even rock, solid earth must boil and dissolve.

Though protected from the melting heat, the companions each had in his mouth his heart. For no one knew if or when the rumbling ground would collapse, and down with it drag everyone into red, hot boiling earth. As they treaded, Serge felt a sudden chill of cold sweat flushing down from his head, as if under a fall of ice he now stood. But in his mind a primate fear began to bud, from which now came shivers and chatters. He cast a glance at the faces of his companions and saw nothing he did not expect. The shadow of fear had already laid dark bands beneath their eyes, just as it had left their eyes hollow, as if devoid of expression. From then on, he tried not to look at anyone, for through their empty eyes bore the keen likeness to those of a walking zombie, as if in this hell evil had possessed their body and consumed their souls.

The amber of fire burned stronger, brighter as their feet brought them from a dim cavern into a clear, wide area. On cooled lava they now walked, like thick, viscous, shiny liquid it looked but hard as solid rock it felt. At times they treaded on little globules, at others they a smooth, flow of frozen black. Upon its shiny surface the crimson of the cave steadily mirrored, forming ripples and weaves and strands of gleaming yellow, red and black. From holes in the ground hot, grey mud bubbled meekly and through thin streams of trickles they flowed into grimy pools. Fine wisps of steam hung about low and motionless, like the thin mist before the coming of dawn. Far towards the north the ground of frozen lava sloped down to where no eyes could see. Here it felt as if the fury of nature had receded, and calm returned. But over the edge of the slope where the eyes could see, a fiery glow hovered, as if the sun was due to rise from behind.

As the travelers of four pressed tirelessly into the cavern, an eerie voice began to sing. They stopped, looked and drew their weapons. Only Leena turned pale and froze. In the stale of the air, came these cheerful words carried on an ancient tune:

_               Through hell comes he,_

_               Over the tide, the son of man._

_               Into heaven comes he, _

_               Against the flow, a judge of time._

As these words repeated themselves, a short figure emerged from the cavern behind them. It walked on two hinds, and seemed like the breed of some dragon. Red, shiny scales dressed its body, while two short horns crowned its tiny head. It looked at the companions with eyes, friendly and warm, like that of a young puppy when cuddled into one's arms.

"What do we have here?" said the little dragon cheerfully. "Humans? Not very friendly ones I see."

After a moment of hesitance, the companions eased, their weapons sheathed. 

"A dragonian?" asked Leena with small relief. "But aren't they extinct this age and day?"

"Oh yes, they are my sweet lady," said the dragon with a smile. "Only I've been forgotten a long time ago, ever since I dwelled in this cozy, lonely cavern. Long time ago was a very long time ago, ages, eras, eons. No, maybe not _that _long. But things have gotten rather lively here this couple of days. Plenty of people have passed through. I assume you, too, will be heading where they were headed. Will there be a great, big gathering I haven't heard of, I wonder? Then again, since I've heard nothing, it's not my concern, I suppose."

The dragon chuckled.

"And you were singing?" she asked.

"Oh! An old riddle of this cavern left down by time. Did I sing well?"

"Look," interrupted Kid, "we have no interest in your businesses. You mind yours, we mind ours."

"I never had any interest in yours either," it said. "But you will return though."

Kid raised both eyebrows, as if in surrender. Then she walked away without a word.

"Yes, you will return. Time will tell. And then we will see what we have become."

The dragon winked at Leena and sprinted off into the distance.

"Don't you think it's strange that we should see a dragonian here?" asked Leena.

"Strange it seems," said Glenn, "though less surprising than it is."

"I can't help feel its appearance has something to do with me," said Serge. "I can't help feel it was trying to tell me something."

"When you meet again like it said," said Glenn as he marched towards the far edge north. Leena followed. 

"I wonder," thought Serge as he watched the little dragon bolt. It ran clumsily with its hind swaying back and forth like that of an obese duckling. For a moment, it reminded him of the two clumsy henchmen that he encountered many evenings ago. The stir of fear subsided for as long as he watched the dragon. When it disappeared out of sight, he turned his gaze towards the north, where his companions had stopped at the edge. 

With an anticipation he could sense from his silent, watching companions, he walked up slowly to their ranks. As the edge of the slope drew closer, it lifted from its rear a view that his eyes and mind awed in speechless wonder. Before them flowed a great river of molten lava, bright and yellow, melting under the heat of itself. Thick, slimy and heavy was its body; like that of a huge snake slowly wreathing its massive weight through a deep gully. Onto the fat river, pillar after pillar of hot yellow oozed from clefts and crevices in the cavern walls; and smaller ones poured from the pouts of rocks, as if they did from the mouth of a beast. Here and there on the river small fires raged and then died. But huge columns of flames blew up now and then, for this was where nature unleashed its fury on gravel that fell from the cavern ceiling. When dust fine enough fell, a blast of fire soared up and consumed it whilst the ensuing explosion rocked the cavern, sending more dust to fall to fuel the unrelenting wrath. 

The four went down the slope and stopped at the edge of the bank. They watched the afternoon sunlight stream from an exit the other side of the river, helpless. For a hundred feet of fire now separated them from where they were headed, as it did between them and their quest. 

"What now?" asked Kid who had her hands on her hips. 

"Did we miss a fork?" mused Leena as she gazed around.

"I am certain we missed nothing," said Glenn. "The path here could not have been simpler. And there is no other."

"Sheeze," Kid swore with the fling of an arm. "All this way for what? How are we to cross this, now?"

"Our faith," then suggested Serge as he walked to the burning river, against his companions' dissuasion. He squatted and reached his hands towards the thick, moving slime and to no surprise of his, he found it cool. Then came a sudden forlorn for his beloved swallow, for in his mind he considered dipping his weapon into the lava. It took a moment's worth of hesitation before he pierced the blade into the heat. 

With an ache in his heart, he waited for the cold silver steel to burn yellow and melt, and then into smoke it would disintegrate. Instead to his awe, the crimson red of the molten lava around the swallow began to dull. A dark, silver sheen took form as the lava gradually froze rock solid. Like water that soiled clothing, inch after inch the cold of silver crept north and subdued the heat of fire. As land spread from this bank and constricted the lava vessel, the flow of lava began to veer towards the other. And when the river was sealed from bank to bank, lava flowing towards the new land spilled over into the hardened landscape and quickly, it, too were frozen. Magic continued to spread, and darkness soon fell upon the cavern like night did upon day. Explosions dwindled and were now an occasional distant rumble, as if finally the fury of nature had been tamed.

Serge stood to his feet, relieved that his path had laid itself before him. He stepped onto it and led his companions across. 

"Faith, huh?" said Kid, as she walked up to Serge and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Not bad at all."

When they arrived at the other side of the bank, the magic that led them across began to wilt. The companions turned back to watch the frozen land began to soften and cracks of light began to pierce through its dreary gray. Into slabs the land soon broke and crumbled, and under the yellow of the heat they slowly sank and melted. The river sprung to live whilst darkness slowly shied away. And once again the light of day reigned.

"So much for his blessings," Kid muttered, shaking her head. "You can be sure he'd be asking for some offerings."

"Perhaps or perhaps not," said Serge. "But until then, we still have Lynx to bother ourselves with."

"Of course! I can't wait."

The structure they called Fort Dragonia stood amidst insurmountable cliffs of the mountain range, formed from the sunken crater of an extinct volcano. While its exterior had in all aspects mounted a grim wall of doom, on its surface within the crater an abundant species of lush greenery clothed, endearing to the ignorant eyes. Within the mountain range, deep in its cracks flowed the flesh eating lava, from which the crater had fittingly earned its name, the Ring of Death.

Decades have passed since the last of the dragonians walked the lands of El Nido. But this fort, trapped within a natural fence that barred all things living, had endured the conquest of land by any who dared to try, until this day. It had been undoubtedly a stronghold in the ages that it was in use, but what it protected against when it mattered, few today knew. Never had there been records of war in the history of El Nido, and it was plain fact that the races of dragonians and humans had always lived in harmony at least before Porre's colonization. 

A tower of the fort stretched towards the sky several hundred feet above ground as no architecture of man could match. A massive plain of stone of fine cut on which they stood spanned around the tower and supported it like a dish supported a thin, burning candle; stone unto which artwork of intricate designs had found their way painstakingly carved since ancient, forgotten pasts. Yet, underneath that tower lay a chasm that reached vertically towards the deepest, darkest depths of the earth. Continuous gusts of cold wind that drafted upwards from the chasm depths gave a deep, resounding horn, as from a terrible beast hungry for food. Indeed, it was a chasm in which even the fiercest of lights would find consumed and devoured, helpless to an unknown prey. Supported by six bridges, each of a singular slab, the epitome of the now extinct dragonians hovered precariously, but miraculously over a doomed fall. Dragon statues of six Elemental colors accompanied the tower, wings folded to their backs. They stood aligned at the corners of a hexagon, each facing the tower that stood at their perfect center, as if each watched over the tower, as if each lifted it defiantly against the rules of nature with its cold, hard gaze and a touch of magic. The six bridges joined the towers to the six statues, and joined to it the bravest of hearts who dared challenge the height, who dared to have the faith. 

When the view of the dragonian tower fell into Serge's eyes, it stole his breath away. He was not as much as bewildered as he was shocked, for this was the tower that had first appeared in his dream, before he stumbled into this world in which he did not belong. This tower that once was a fuzzy recollection now stood before him in its stark magnificence, in its most intricate detail. Once it had told him of an unnerving premonition, for two of the people he met in the dream he eventually met in reality. It now told him of the inevitable, death closing in on one dear to him, unless with all determination he could muster he defied the dream and the possibility that it forebode. He resolved to break the spell of destiny, to change the course of fate. With all hope, he impressed upon himself under a silent, repetitive chant that nothing would happen. 

Nothing must happen. 

"A majestic castle like a speck of dust lost in the mists of time," said Glenn. "Yet, under the burning star it stands, and from within an uncanny pulse beats, as if the fort has a soul of its own. See how the rounded edges of the tower meld with its environs. I would almost think it grew out of the soil the sturdy trunk of a tree. And one could not help wonder at how ever the tower could have been built over that chasm. What a feat it must have been!"

"You make sound so beautiful," said Leena. She spread her arms and wheeled on her toes. "And more beautiful it seems to become. It's so worth our time, I'd say, and all the effort we took to get here."

"But this is no leisure trip, Leena," reminded Glenn. "Each of us has his or her purpose for being here, and our own battle to fight. Let us be constantly reminded of that."

Leena nodded obediently.

Serge agreed with a nod, for in his mind he continued his chant.

"What's the matter?" said Kid, who regarded Serge intently. "You've been quiet."

"Nothing," replied Serge. "Just that we are finally here."

"Yes, this is it," said Kid as she scanned the vast crater. And off the mountain walls returned a soft echo. "The end of our road. But it is quiet on the outside, too quiet. Where are those who defend the fort?"

"You do not see them, but they are here," said Glenn as his glance flitted about the encompassing mountains. "The fourth and sixth companies of archers are in hiding. For it is now the best cover for them and the worst surprise for the enemy. Hundreds of arrows are trained on us this moment. But to us they mean no harm. If they did, we would not have lived to speak a word more. The remaining of the ground forces should be resting within the fort tower."

A chill wind rose from the dark chasm and swept from it towards the encircling mountains.

"So, what does that all mean?" said Leena, her eyes darting about, trying to find what only Glenn could see.

"It means that they are expecting us," said Kid as she turned to face her companions.

"Lynx is expecting us," corrected Serge.

An entrance near the edge of the depthless chasm led the travelers into a narrow corridor of steps. Into it and downwards they walked, between tight, brown walls, below a tall ceiling. On each step were slabs of embossed characters as they would if painted by imposing strokes. Yet, each was as elegant and refined as legends spoke of its people. On the walls and ceilings were carved the hieroglyphic symbols of some language that seemed more ancient than the old fort. In both walls at regular intervals, great round panels of light steadily shone as the face of the moon in a clear night sky. None shimmered, and none had eternally faded behind darkness to join history amidst the forgotten symbols. And for a few thousand years these magical lights might have endured and persevered, since the monumental inception of the magnificent dragonian structure.

Then, through the narrow flight of stairs a draft gushed.

Soon they emerged to a wide, stone bridge, one of the six that challenged the bravest of hearts over an eternal tumble. At a hundred feet below the level of ground, they could see the brown of the cliffs wane into the black of the chasm. And from where they stood the fort tower loomed and rose ominously toward the azure heavens. Dark were its shadow on the eastern sides, darker were the peril it portended. At one end of the bridge the companions of four stood, and the far gates of the entrance to the tower across the bridge seemed as distant as the unfathomable pit bottom. 

"How... how deep is this hole?" Leena stammered, pale in the face.

"Deep as you wish. Follow me," said Kid to her companions. 

And with the grace of a swan over gentle waters, Kid floated across the bridge. Serge followed.

"How does she make it look effortless?" lamented Leena, who began to tread slowly across. Followed behind her was Glenn.

As Serge walked he chanted. He began to realize that the safety of the narrow flight of stairs had retreated. The vast open he soon walked into, and helpless and insignificant he soon became. Above him was the vacant sky, and below the naught of emptiness. Thoughts began to stray as he wondered how void could be, if it could not be felt, seen, or heard. One could put into words and song the beauty of the coming of spring, the dawn of a new morning, and the birth of a child. But none can be said for nothing; yet, the emptiness of nothing exists. Soon it dawned on him that it was through fear that the nameless void took shape, and in the hearts of the weak it lived strong. For that fear now was swelling in his little being, as if the void below was claiming him.

He opened his steps and under the cloak of dimness he hid his fears. Whilst the occasional wind surged and howled, his heart raced and thumped until at length his feet traveled three-fourths of the bridge. There, he sighed and almost slouched, though he did not quicken and slacken his pace. Like a sack dropped to the floor a good deal of fear in him receded. But like scratches the sack made on his shoulder flakes of that fear scarred and lingered in his mind. At last he came to the end of the bridge, and following behind were Glenn and Leena, pale in her cheeks.

By then Kid had inspected the gates, which she found to be unlocked. She opened them, and then waved them in before she last entered.

At the lowest level of the great fort, a great hall of an octagonal design embraced them. In its center a pillar stood, wide as twenty men and women hand-in-hand around a fire. At the south of the pillar, a door under a frowning arch kept shut behind its frames a chamber within. All over a soft hue of blue glowed, and like the calmness of the great seas it soothed and numbed one's senses. But it, too, washed away a good measure of reds and greens as the coming of winter stole from the world leaves and flowers. In the glow of blue, light and shadow carved the ancient words of the dragonian tongue on the walls and floors. The magical strokes of bright and dark brought also to life vivid sequences of murals of dragon rulers, lords and above them all, almighty gods of the living world. In one sequence, dragonians worshipped before a great dragon lord. In the next of it, many hands forged a device of a crystal ringed with six orbs and thereafter offered it to the great lord. The final sequence spoke of the rising of a dark power that cast the gloom of shadow unto the world, after which both dragon and crystal came to a terrible end, shattered and divided. 

Serge walked to and studied the last mural. He ran a hand over the mural and from the edges of the carvings dust fell. Then, with shock he retreated, as if he feared for the fragility of old wall and that it might fall. One more look he took at the hall within which he stood. It began to dawn on him that this ancient stronghold, built like a place of worship, was built to defend and protect not a people, but some thing, unknown and forgotten. Thereupon the words of Chief Direa of Guldove village came to mind: _If they plan to activate the ancient ruin, the Sacrament of the Souls..._

"Serge!" Kid hissed and stole his attention. 

She had opened the great doors to the chamber in the pillar and was waiting and waving him over. Serge regarded the last mural even as he walked to Kid, as if he felt emotionally attached to it and sympathized with the downfall of the dragon lord. Perhaps, he was loath to discover what waited for him in that chamber, but his feet seemed convinced that in and beyond there his fate must lie. 

In the chamber, Serge saw something he did not want to see. At the end of it a platform floated, like the one it did in his dream. On it marked the recurring symbol of the dragonian faith: six white rings at the corners of an unseen hexagon, attached to a centre white ring by lines like the spokes of a wheel. Leena and Glenn were already waiting for him on the platform. With one hand on Serge's back, Kid walked him to the edge of the platform. She regarded him with concern, though he took little notice of it. A great part of his mind he devoted to keep his hands from trembling. He tried to fight off the conscious part of him that made him do what he did. But scene by scene his dream was realizing, and like one chapter after another of a book he read again, he knew exactly what was about to happen. 

Glenn reached a hand out, and after a moment's worth of hesitation Serge took it. Like a comrade and soldier, he pulled Serge onto the platform and on Serge's arm Glenn patted a firm gesture of support. When the ride was full, Leena threw a switch and the platform began a slow struggle upwards. Through a narrow shaft the platform rose. Sparks flew at the edge of the platform as it painfully rubbed against the walls of stone.

And so they reached the next level of the fort, and no higher would the floating platform rise. Two large gates of heavy bronze open, cranking as they slid along its old, rusted tracks. Before them they could see a dim hallway, through the other end of which yellow light poured. 

Serge watched his companions step off the platform, but he stood rooted to the ground, struggling against an inner strength that tried to push him forward. He felt bitter cold bite into his fingers and his arms, and perspiration gather on his forehead. Kid turned and regarded him with wrinkles between her brows.

"What is it, Serge? You look troubled," Leena observed. Then with an anxious, as if regretful sigh, she said, "This is it. There is no turning back now."

With a tip of her head, she gestured Serge forward. Then, brimming with confidence, she turned to face the welcoming light at the end of the hallway. "Come on Serge, Leena!" she roared. "Just you wait, Lynx!  Today's gonna be the day of reckoning Say your prayers! Not that it'll do you any good!"

Laughter exploded from Kid and like a thunderous quake it rumbled down the hallway. Moments later, the same laughter could be heard echoing from the spaces beyond. She seemed eager to make her presence known.

"Serge!" Leena hissed as she waved him over anxiously.

Kid bolted, quickly followed by Leena and Glenn. Powerless against his own independent thoughts, Serge charged forward, as if even he was inspired by Kid's courage and thirst for vengeance. 

From of the hallway the companions emerged to a grand, round hall, at the center of which stood a raised dais three feet from the ground. But as they approached the dais, three Acacia guards who had been backing against the wall sprang from behind and ambushed them with spears to their backs. A flood of soldiers then suddenly emerged from passages into the hall and now an entire company of at least forty strong surrounded the companions of four. 

Kid whipped out her dagger, and the other three, their arsenal.

"Halt! Intruders!" roared a burly dragoon. "Put down your weapons and you shall come to no harm."

"Yours first," Kid demanded stubbornly.

"You must be terribly dense," said the guard. "Can you not tell that the odds are against you? You have been lucky once, but today, you have picked a wrong place for petty thievery, young lady." That said, he poked his spear at Kid's jugular. 

"Ceasefire, Captain!" commanded a booming voice.

The company of guards eased away, and through the wall of men came walking a stout individual who donned a white combat armor and long hair of faint blue. 

"But Sir Karsh--"

"Have you not received your orders?" said the Deva, one of the four elites of the Acacia Dragoons. 

"So I have and will follow them exactly as they are," said the guard. "But here stands four thieves instead of three as far as the eyes of my guards and mine can see, Sir. And one of whom dons the armor of the dragoons! It is my duty to see--"

Karsh hushed the guard and regarded the travelers one by one until his eyes fell upon Glenn.

"Should I be surprised, Glenn?" said Karsh, his brows furrowed. "And where is Lady Riddel, if I may ask? Tell me how the son of Garai has got himself into such a fix as this"--Karsh eyed Kid disparagingly--"and left the Lady to the hands of Porre, should they invade at this hour?"

"The Lady is in good hands," said Glenn. "She now stays at the Hermit's Hideaway with Sir Radius. But it is the General whom we must worry about. If anyone is in the hands of Porre, it is the General. Surely even you are aware of that, Sir Karsh."

The eyes of Karsh and Glenn locked on each other, engaged in a silent conversation spoken in a language of their own. And for that moment, neither of their gazes shifted away. So intense were the glowers that it seemed as if in this conversation they debated over year after year of bitter rivalry. Tension swelled in the hall that, though spacious, seemed too small to contain the ire. As Glenn's grip on the sword tightened, an Acacia guard fidgeted uncomfortably. 

"At ease your men," finally said Karsh to guard. "And let them pass!"

"Yes, Sir Karsh," he replied.

"The General awaits the three--the four of you in the Chamber of the Souls," said Karsh. "Step up to that round dais and it will take you there. I know little of the General's plans, or Lynx's even. Dark and hideous his schemes are I can only expect. And now he has the General completely under his spell. What more can you and I do, where even the Lady herself has failed?"

The guards began to look uneasy.

"Then join us!" urged Glenn. "Your men will follow your orders. Order them up to the Chamber of the Souls and there we will confront Lynx. He may have a grip on power but he alone stands powerless over numbers!"

"Indeed, my men will follow my orders! And like them, I shall follow the General's. Under an oath I once swore to duly carry out orders from my superior. And not now, not ever will I betray that oath."

"If my brother was here today, he would not have hesitated as you do now," said Glenn bitterly.

Karsh fell sullen and on his face the red of anger blushed. He looked as if he were about to speak, but he walked away silently and disappeared into a passage. Soon thereafter, under the order of the leader the guards dispersed. 

Much to Serge's dismay, the hall had emptied, save for the four companions. A moment earlier, when he saw the Acacia guards he had not seen in his dream, he thought the light from a star of miracles had finally shone on them. But now hope had forsaken him and was lost in the brooding of yellow in the hall. And alone stood the dais; a protrusion that looked out of place in the regularity of the hall. Sounds of bats fluttering came from the far ceiling above, a ceiling so tall it reached high above all light and sight. But in this scene, another chapter of his story revealed before him, as if its words had been penned long before he was born into this world. He felt helpless and dejected as he gazed about to understand that even the stones that made the walls and floors seemed sad and forlorn. 

Kid walked up a short flight of steps and on the top of the dais she stood. On it again marked the symbols of the faith of the dragonians--six rings in the corners of a hexagon-- from which pale blue light glowed. The rest followed. But no longer did Serge try to break the sequence of revelations, for no longer he had any strength left to do so. He wearily walked the path that the pages of destiny had already laid for him, and let his life take its rightful course. As he stepped up onto the dais, he resigned himself to fate.

A pillar of light wrapped them in its brightness, and the companions found themselves drifting up at great speed, like arrows they whizzed towards the rock hard ceiling far above. They did not crash into it, but through it and above of the tower of the fort they burst. Flesh rubbed stone, the strange feeling of which tickled their skins, hearts and their minds. And even higher into the sky and quicker they shot, towards a lone floating structure in the backdrop of blue. Thin wisps of mists thrust and rolled aside, as if shy of their quick coming. The floating structure fell hurriedly on them, but to no harm they came. Rather, they emerged safely on its level ground and there they ended their mystical flight.

The cold of air suddenly bit them, as ice fell on them and crushed them under its weight. For they now stood in heaven, and around and above they saw only the blue where here and there a jewel of the night sky twinkled. They stood where the clouds would drift if they would form, but only thin mists passed through them, thin as the air they now breathed. Before them they saw two great doors and on it the weaving of gold ridges. On its frame marked characters of the dragonians' tongue, and scripts with different strokes. But to all, the Chamber of the Souls, those words must mean. To the sides of the great doors stood two grey statues of dragons, like keepers of the doors and guardians to a chamber within. Piercing through their eyes was a cold, hard glare that terrified the hearts of one, as of a grave warning to the trespasser of his or her unwarranted presence.

"Oi!" said Kid. "What the bloody hell just happened?"

She peered over the edge and caught herself a panoramic view. 

"Wow! Bugger!" she exclaimed. "We're so high up! Is this thing floating?"

"Did it feel like your body passed through the floor just now?" Leena asked, rubbing her arms in the cold.

"This sure is some fort," Kid remarked. "Eh, Serge?"

Serge remained speechless not for the magic he just experienced but for the darkness that was growing in his heart.

"You alright, Serge?" said Kid. "You've been acting all weird. Who knows what's up ahead, so just stay on your toes, eh?"

Serge nodded.

"Come on, let's go!" said Kid with a rare smile. 

Serge approached the great doors as they opened his eyes into a dark, blue-lit chamber within.

Serge walked into the last scene of his ominous dream, whilst he wondered if he did walk into the last in his life.

He now found himself in the Chamber of the Souls, where mystical rituals must have once been performed, and from where a power unknown must have been unleashed in some hidden past. Along the walls murals painted and told more stories, but hardly visible in the eerie dimness. Six dragon statues stood erect on the ground, aligned at the corners of a hexagon, each facing a pedestal set at the perfect center of the hexagon. On the ground, a groove of white, pulsating light ringed each statue's feet, and one more ringed the base of the pedestal. And so it was here they saw once more, for the last time perhaps, the symbol of the faith: six rings around a seventh, each of the six joined to the seventh by another groove of light. The stolen Dragon Tear glowing in a light of vivid amethyst blue rested on the pedestal, and pulsed in synchrony with the grooves of light on the ground. 

Lynx stood behind the Dragon Tear, gazing emptily across the chamber at the four who entered. At nowhere his eyes rested, yet at all four companions they carefully scrutinized. No smile he wore on his solemn face and no hint of his thoughts showed from behind that closed mind. And thus by doing nothing, this feline beast injected the fear of unknown into one who stood in his presence. This fear, like the slow trickle of a stream, rolled down from Serge's mind and very gradually soaked his trembling flesh in terror.

But General Viper smiled as the great doors closed behind the four companions.

"Finally," Lynx exclaimed. "We've been expecting you. Welcome back, Kid."

"Hah!" Kid yelled triumphantly. "That poison of yours ain't going to knock me down!"

"I see you have not let me down," he said with a wry smile.

"You bloody bastard! I will have your life today!"

Kid flashed her dagger, but the general spoke, his sword already poised for strike.

"I have nothing personal against you," spoke the general earnestly. "But anyone who hinders our plan must be eliminated. I am rather sorry about that."

"General!" Glenn demanded. "What is going on?"

"Glenn," said the general. "This need not concern you now. One day, you will understand."

"I will not understand if you do not tell me, General, Sir," Glenn said, his voice trembling.

"You need only to know that Porre's downfall will come to them swift. Once we have the key to the Frozen Flame--"

"The _legendary _Frozen Flame? I beg your utmost pardon, Sir!"

"You are mistaken. It is no legend. Its powers lie locked away in the Sea of Eden. And with it I shall command Porre's downfall."

Glenn went speechless, as if even he were swayed by the general's sincerity.

"You must trust me, Glenn. Surely it is not too much of a sacrifice, is it?"

"But trust Lynx I do not, General. Ask anyone, and he will tell you Lynx plots evil that he does not speak."

Then Lynx finally spoke.

"General, you need not stand up for me. Sir Glenn, if you have brought down an entire kingdom with your own hands, then you will understand the general's motivation. However plenty the sacrifices he has made for the people of El Nido, the general has never slept with a restful mind. Fifteen years ago, Porre formed an alliance with the dragoons El Nido with a vision to tear down monarchies and reshape the world. But without the general's authority, Porre put the dragoons at the front-line, and using the dragoons they took out the majority of Guardia's defences. It was then that Porre wheeled in their arsenal of cannons. They unleashed firepower so terrible that the castle of Guardia crumbled in its destruction. And at least two companies from the dragoons perished. But, Porre won the war without a scratch."

Glenn remained silent, as if he did not how to respond. The general had lowered his sword as he did his head, as if in guilt he now dwelled.

Kid interrupted. "Oi! Glenn, wake up! These buggers are just sweet talking you!"

"I want to know, General, Sir, if what Lynx said is true?" asked Glenn.

A while later, the general lifted his head and regarded Glenn.

"It is, Glenn. It was I who agreed to the alliance and indirectly left the dragoons at Porre's disposal, although it was also I who pulled out of the alliance after the war. Needless to say, Porre harbored bitter hatred towards El Nido. It has been our territorial advantage that has protected us against their invasion for the past decade. But as their firepower grows, I fear our natural barriers will not keep their hunger out. Long have I wished to face Porre before their rotten values set foot upon our shores, but I will not send my men to die in a pointless fight. For Porre is far too strong in numbers and weapons. My only hope now lies in the Sea of Eden.

"I am grateful to Lynx for speaking for me, the very person who told not me to speak for him. Can you not see why I trust the fate of the dragoons to him?"

Lynx smiled. "There is little need for accolades. I am but a demi-human in many's eyes who deserves no credibility and deserves little of such gratitude. But I have no wish for a fine man like you be misunderstood. It has been my honor to have gained your trust, but regretfully speaking, it has been to your own detriment."

Lynx disappeared from where he stood and appeared behind the general. Casually, he plunged a dagger into the general's back. The general startled, his eyes wide open in shock.

"Fare you well, General, Sir."

"L-Lynx!" the general struggled. "You traitor!"

"General!" cried Glenn.

Lynx yanked brutally his weapon from Viper's back. Blood spilled and General Viper fell immediately to his knees, moaning in pain. Glenn rushed to his side and held the general from falling.

"You were extremely useful in helping me make my way around these islands," Lynx said calmly without remorse. "I appreciate your help, General. I no longer, however, have any need for you. This fort shall serve as a fine grave marker for you and the rest of your dragoons. May you rest in peace."

"M-My dragoons?" choked the general. "Why involve them if you had decided only to dispose of me?"

"Your dragoons would be hindrance to my plans, general. I will not have them set loose like wild creatures on the soils of El Nido, while I achieve my purposes in the Sea of Eden. Do you not think it would be more appropriate for my own people to take control of the situation?"

"Porre...!" said the general, his strength fading. "Forgive me, Riddel. Daddy has failed you." He drifted away into unconsciousness, unresponsive to the desperate calls of Glenn. Leena scurried over and with her Element beads she cast healing magic, but none could revive him.

"Do not waste your time," said Lynx. "Do you think I would let him wake?"

"You beast!" cried Glenn. 

He laid the general tenderly on the ground. Thereupon, metal rang in the silence as Glenn drew his sword, the clear shrill of it resonating with his ferocity in the chamber walls. Tears welled up in his eyes as upon the fading of the last echoes of ringing metal he roared his fiercest battle cry. Now, poised for revenge, Glenn stormed down towards Lynx and dealt the opening slash as he threw his sword downwards for a diagonal cut. Lynx stepped aside, swift as the fall of the blade. The miss fueled Glenn's rage, and with limitless energy surging in his veins and powering the engines of his limbs, he swung fast and hard his blade at Lynx' neck. Lynx hopped backwards, and with the squint of his depthless eyes and a curl of his lips he challenged his adversary. Two strokes Glenn had dealt, yet not once Lynx had used his tall, mighty scythe he bore on steadily on his shoulder. With fury gathered at the hilt of his sword, Glenn answered the challenge and thrust with his might his steel towards Lynx's heart. But only through thin air his blade shyly whooshed, for Lynx had read his move and disappeared from where he stood. Only a moment later, he appeared standing behind the Dragon Tear. The light from the Dragon Tear glowed in his face, and light of grim satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. 

"I would not fight here if I were you, lest I incur the wrath of the Six Dragon Gods." In an arrogant gesture, Lynx spread his arms as if he were about to embrace in them the statues of the six dragons, as if they all belonged only to him. 

"What rubbish!" screamed Kid. "You're going down!" 

She bolted towards Lynx and directed the dagger to his chest. He retreated and caught her swiftly by her wrist. Then using her momentum, he twisted about his feet and flung her against one of the six statues. Kid crashed hard into the statue and there she transformed her pain into the dirtiest of vulgarities. Wretchedness dogged her expression while she recovered. Her left arm throbbed with a dull ache, but in her mind a worse pain seared--the failure to deal fair revenge onto her worst enemy. In the dim blue chamber, she saw in her eyes the red of fire and through them the dark silhouette of a figure that must be taken to its grave. And while its might and power overwhelmed her, she remained determined to fell her arch-enemy. 

Drawing on her years of experience in combat, Kid lunged and attempted a swipe at his neck. Deception must be defeated with deception, for this battle was no battle of brute strength but one of wits. As the leap took her floating in the air and as the world around her seemed to slow to a crawl, she reached her left hand to the back of her skirt and remove effortlessly from a hidden fold a wooden dart. And while she kept concealed the simple sleight from the enemy's eyes, the crafty cat-human had her every movement followed and her intentions predicted. The elegant curves of Kid's dagger missed her target by a good measure, but Kid knew the blow was yet to come until the next stroke. As she landed softly on her feet, she jerked her left shoulder as if she were about to unleash clever surprise unto her enemy. Indeed Lynx began to make his turn to avoid her underhanded assault, and he turned towards a direction that was to her delight. Kid chose not to reveal the dart but entrusted the next blow to her dagger. Back into the zones of critical damage she pulled her dagger, and rightly went for a strike at her enemy's eyes. Lynx responded quickly nonetheless, but too late to avoid the trim of furs of his furry face.

And there the momentum of battle halted as quickly as it began.

Lynx inhaled discontentedly as he stroked his cheek, as if in nursing a painful injury. "You're more trouble than I thought," he grumbled with that little hint of sarcasm. "But do you really think your skills are superior to mine?"

"We'll find out!" Kid taunted furiously, eager to make the next slash a fatal one.

But Lynx paid no heed to Kid, and instead turned his attention to Serge. A keen interest began to glow in those expressionless eyes, and like a blue flame it appeared, burning with a dark, hideous passion beyond the reckoning of a young mind as Serge's. Yet, Serge found himself mesmerized by the beauty of the burning flames, and soon he found himself thrilled, even emotional. With his consciousness he tried to resist what must be the binding of a terrible spell made to compel one against his wishes. But only that much he could attempt before his will crumbled to weariness and the power of the enemy. Soon his feet began a deliberate walk towards the dragon tear.

"Serge!" yelled Kid. "What are you doing?"

So befuddled by Serge were Glenn and Leena, that they exchanged glances and wondered what should be done.

"You should not resist, Serge," said Lynx. "For this is just fate."

Then, Serge felt his muscles loosened and a formless weight lift.

"Serge," Lynx's continued slowly. "Have you ever questioned who you really are?"

At last Serge stopped before the Dragon Tear, and on the opposite of it stood Lynx. Powerless against the darkest of foul will bent upon him, Serge could only do as much as gaze and stare hard into the crystal Tear, even if by its vivid glow it burned his eyes.

"Oi! Serge!" Kid yelled repeatedly, but like before her voice began to fade.

"What has been the significance of your existence up until now?" said Lynx said. "On that ominous day ten years ago, the boundary of space and time was torn, and like you, part of me, in fact, died...

"You cannot defeat me, Serge," Lynx said. "This is because denying me is the same as erasing your very existence."

"Don't be taken in by his rubbish, Serge!" Kid's yell had become as soft as a murmur. "This guy's full of it!"

"We'll see about that," Lynx said. "There are two sides to every coin. Life and death... Love and hate... They are all the same."

"What'd you say!?" Kid yelled. "Talk some sense, will you!"

Serge had just heard the last of voices and his ears now failed to function, as if within a vacuum they had been tightly wrapped and sealed. Even his own heartbeat and breathing were no longer audible, as if he had lost them like he would lose his life. Indeed, he began to feel breathless, though he could make no effort to ease the torture. His limbs had frozen, and like the cast stone of a statue they refused to even twitch. His vision, still locked intently on the glowing Dragon Tear, narrowed and dimmed until he saw only the brilliance of amethyst blue burning like a fiery moon in the darkened sky. And the longer he stared, the clearer he saw the reflection on the crystal Tear his terrified face.

Suddenly, he felt as if his whole body blew up into a thousand torn chunks. Fire seared and ice crunched and the very agony of that inexplicable pain crushed his mind. He screamed in his heart but he could not shout. He struggled with his mind but he could not move. He wanted out, and he wanted all of these to end this instant, even if he had to lose his miserable life. In the short instant that he desperately wished for death, the reflection of his own face swapped to that of Lynx. Then, pain expelled itself from his soul with an aftershock so excruciating he fell onto his knees. Sounds began to creep back into his world, and his world began to fill his vision once more. His breath returned to normal, as did fortunately his fragile life. Yet from the back of his mind, the memory of the devilish work rippled throughout his muscles and fingers.

But shock seized him when he saw Kid on the opposite side of the Dragon Tear. She helped up another figure obscured by the brilliance of the Dragon Tear. She held his shoulders and comforted him like a lost child. Further behind her, Glenn and Leena stood, puzzled by the events that had taken place before them, but they all had their attention on this mysterious figure. In the closed room, a cold wind stirred and chilled his bones. 

Guided by an unnerving feeling, Serge thought to examine himself. To his dismay, he saw that he now owned a pair of paws, its claws sharp and glazing against the dull gleam from the dragonian crystal. His arms grew a layer of thick, brown fur. Over his now muscular built he donned this dark uniform, a mark of a top military official from the nation of Porre. When he took a peek at the mysterious figure opposite the Dragon Tear, he saw a young seventeen-year-old boy who once loved his red bandana and his swallow, but now seemed dazed and spellbound. A plethora of emotions slammed Serge and stirred in his mind a torrent of utter confusion. Suddenly he knew anger, hatred, disgust, sadness, loneliness, vengeance, concern, worry, nervousness, anxiety though he did not understand the mess of it all. Yet in all these he knew certainly this:

Serge was now Lynx, and vice versa.

Serge, or rather, Lynx retreated as shook his head in utter disbelief. 

"Serge! What's wrong!?" Kid shook that imposter Serge by his shoulders. Then, with a fiery gaze fanned by ire, Kid turned to the real Serge, hidden in Lynx's body. "Lynx!" she cried. "What have you done to Serge?"

Her words shattered his heart. Tears welled in his new pair of eyes.

"Serge? You alright?" Kid turned back to that imposter Serge, and continued to shower the imposter with her love and concern.

That Serge struggled to his feet with a smile of relief. "Yes. I'm fine. I'm just fine, Kid." 

So it was this moment that it struck Serge, like a thunderous bolt, jolting his back stiff. He did not--or would not--stab Kid, as his dream had foretold. Rather, Lynx would, while dressed and that new, cleansed look that his companions still call Serge. The real Serge knew he must warn Kid to stay away from the imposter Serge, but when the real Serge tried to speak, he managed only a feeble growl. He had not yet grown accustomed to his new feline frame that he had been forced into, and most of all, he could not quite use his new mouth.

That Serge regarded the real Serge with a scornful smile. "What are you doing, _Lynx_?" he gladly emphasized. Then he said to Kid. "Now's your chance, Kid! Kill him!"

"Yeah!" Kid said eagerly. "I know."

Kid walked towards Lynx, her elegant dagger gripped in her hand. Glenn drew his sword and Leena drew her dagger. His friends knew only the enemy of his body, the enemy which they must destroy regardless of the friendly soul within. The thought of his own situation irked and hurt him that he wanted to cry.

"This is the end of you, Lynx!" Kid said, her eyes squinting with pleasure. "Say your prayers!"

But the real Serge found nothing he could say, whether or not he now had the ability to articulate them into legible words. He was alone, outcast and ostracized by his own friends who now harbored rage against him. He was dazed, shocked and utterly helpless. Trapped, surrounded by three powerful opponents bent on fighting and defeating him, he was inching towards a certain doom. Even then, to fight his own friends would be beyond his own will, while his control of it lasted! Yet at least he must defend himself for now, and live this day so that he may seek another to clear his name. The real Serge gave a glance at his scythe, bore its weight in his hands and braced himself for a difficult escape.

But Kid was fast. With a swift bolt, fleeting like a weightless shadow, Kid reached the side of the real Serge, and thrust her dagger into his abdomen before he had a moment more to think. And by the time he did, Kid had left beyond the range of his powerful scythe, and was back safe where the imposter Serge stood.

The real Serge, Lynx, fell to his knees. His heart hurt more than the wound did.

"You did it, Kid," said the imposter Serge.

"Yeah," said Kid. 

Lynx regarded up at Kid thoughtfully.

"Now finish him!" demanded the imposter. "What's wrong? Settle it once and for all. Here, hand me your dagger"--and the imposter snatched from Kid her weapon--"I'll finish him off." 

Lynx growled. "No, don't give him that!" he tried to articulate but failed miserably.

"Watch this, Kid!" said the imposter. "I'll avenge Lucca for you! Die, Lynx!"

"Wait!" halted Kid, and the look in her eyes quickly became wary.

"What, Kid? He's your foe, isn't he?"

"How do you know Lucca's name?"

"What are you talking about, Kid?" asked the imposter.

"Not once did I ever mention Lucca's name to you, Serge."

The imposter raised his brows and then smiled.

"No!" Kid shifted her glances to and from Serge and Lynx. "Don't tell me you're..."

The real Serge sprang to his clawed feet, but the wound in his abdomen took him down to his knees two steps later. He was never to reach them in time. With as little remorse as dealing General Viper his stab, the imposter Serge thrust cleanly the dagger into its owner. Kid grimaced, but she made no sound, as if she had discovered too late her errs and had resigned to its grave consequences.

Only Leena shrieked in terror.

The imposter with his eyes shut gave a soft, satisfying moan, as if of all worldly and beastly desires this thrilled and pleased him most. His lips curled into a twisted grin whilst he grinded the dagger and took delight in dealing torture unto an already helpless victim. And further into Kid he forced and wound the dagger, as if he sought to implant it in her. Kid who had with all her strength kept the agony sealed behind her lips finally let out a restrained cry. She could hold back no longer those tears of pain, and out of her eyes they burst rolling down her cheeks. Almost Serge felt a violent pain in his chest, as if into his heart the dagger probed and bored. At last, when Kid, with what strength she had left, cast the imposter a bloodshot glance of terrible hate, Lynx yanked brutally the soaked dagger so that in that instant blood poured and gushed forth.

"Serge! Why?" Glenn shouted in dismay, his sword drawn to meet the traitor.

"You're Lynx..." said Kid her last words.

Kid fell to her knees, her hands gripping her wound; only a moment later she knelt in a pool of her own blood. Then, she fell forward and crashed onto the floor, sprawling and motionless. 

"Y-You are Lynx?" Glenn regarded Lynx and Serge.

"Oh, my god!" cried Leena remorsefully. 

"Quiet!" Serge ordered. He raised a hand and no longer than a fleeting moment of a wink from his hand sprang bolts of empty darkness to both Leena and Glenn. In an instant they both were knocked out cold.

The imposter Serge bent and stroked a hand through Kid's hair. He picked up the lock of her ponytail to his nose and relished in its raw smell of sweat and toil. Then, as if suddenly enraged, with a strong jerk he pulled her head up by her ponytail. Like a deranged madman he grinned and then strained his voice into her ears, "I could send you to see Lucca!" But at that threat, the imposter released his grip on her hair and let her head fall heavily onto the ground.

The real Serge in Lynx's body watched helplessly as each of his friends fall, and tears stream. He had played out his entire dream, but with no will to alter what he knew. He was weak and he was useless, so he told himself. He could not save his loved one, and had failed to save his friends. He fell into a state of dejection and had lost all will to live, for he deserved no life for failing his companions. With that thought, he released his grip on his abdominal wound and let life drain from the body that did not belong to him. 

The imposter walked to Lynx with all intent to gloat. "Look at yourself, Serge! I mean, Lynx!"

Serge cast the imposter Serge a glance.

"Excellent!" cried the imposter. "The enmity is growing! The only thing pure in this world is enmity! Well then, the time has come for the curtain to fall. Your services are no longer needed. Even your very existence is worthless."

The imposter Serge retrieved the scythe that belonged to him. There he fondled with the magnificent weapon, as if deeply and hopelessly in love with it he was. More and more insane this imposter Serge seemed to have become, for he placed even his lips against the cold, golden hilt of the tall scythe. Then, his gaze shot to the Dragon Tear, where upon the pedestal it still rested. The light in the room had dimmed following the completion of the ceremonial exchange, but within the Tear a glow continued to pulse. The imposter hurried to the Dragon Tear and with his hand he lifted the crystal high into the air. 

"Finally, I have the key!" he proclaimed loudly. "The key into the Sea of Eden! The key to the gate of fate! The time has finally come for the Frozen Flame to awaken!"

The Dragon Tear began to shimmer. Quicker it began to pulse, and brighter was its light. A huge blast suddenly rocked the chamber, upon which the standing dragon statues of six shattered into worthless stones. Dust and gravel rained down. The crystal Dragon Tear, too, had shattered into blue shards, its brilliant glow forever lost in all its broken pieces. Thereafter, the imposter raised his hand and with his mastery of arcane magic he lifted the real Serge. The real Serge felt his body--Lynx's body--tear once more, but he had not the strength or will to defy death. 

"Now, let love bleed! Darker and deeper than the seas of hell!" 

Darkness soon claimed the real Serge. And little he could remember of the path he took tumbling down a long, dark abyss, save for that smile of euphoria he could wear during the eternal journey.


	19. Book 3 Prologue

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**Book 3**

**0 Prologue**

The old man pulled a white coat over him and into great chamber he walked. He had his clammy hands clasped behind him as he did. Walls of silver greeted him and on his weathered, wrinkled face they cast a faint color of blue. Yet in the centre of the chamber, sealed behind a great sphere of glass was a faint glow red as the flames of molten rock. It threw against the wall a great shadow of the old man, one as dark as it was looming. He regarded the fiery glow with caution whilst he walked and had raised around his mind a firm wall of resistance. But a moment later, when he tried to look away he found he had to peel his eyes from it. With much strength he finally tore himself from some growing desire in his heart, from a longing that nearly brought tears to his eyes.

He took a deep breath and sunk himself in the cool scent of metal and concrete. And behind his thick, white beard he wore a smile of bliss, for into his mind came drifting the fond memories of this place only a long day before. It was then a place of magnificence, a place where many dreams were chased and many hopes realized. It was a place with people who earned their lives through laborious routines, who loved each other like family, who, most of all, devoted their time to great causes. Amongst them he had lived, worked and laughed for several years at least. Through their temperaments and their struggles he had seen them, occasionally at best. Until it came a time when his task was done, when he had to depart with no more than a word he could leave behind. Then on, he left all else to the enigmatic designs of fate and this empty room was her result.

"Good day, my friend," said the old man.

"The craft you arrived in," said the cold, unfeeling voice of a lady from somewhere within the walls. "You must be..."

"You are observant," said the old man slowly. "Yes, indeed I am."

"It's about time you arrived. But if you were here early..."

"Surely I can't be late! No one runs late to the clocks of fate. And there's naught to sound wistful about! What has happened will happen. Not even I can stop it. You must know best by now: there is no such thing as speculation, no such thing as prediction. History is not being written as time flows; it has already been written many eons before our planet even existed. This conversation between you and I will always take place at this moment at this point in time, even if time were to rewind and the world would start from zero once more."

"That applies to no doubt everyone else in the world. Everyone, but one. He alone has the power to rewrite future."

"Speaking of which, what has happened thus far? It has been two long years since I met Serge at Viper's library. I suppose the Sacrament would just be over now? He has much to bear for a young boy," said the old man as he stroked thoughtfully his long, white beard.

"The Sacrament is over, and his soul now resides in Lynx's body."

"Is he all right?" asked the old with much concern.

"You know he is. You wouldn't have done all these otherwise."

"That is true," said the old man thoughtfully.

"For Serge, it will only be two short weeks. For you it has just been two years. But for me, a great many millennia have come and gone."

"Ten thousand years it has been, has it not? Yet this place hasn't aged a day."

"The passing of time erodes nothing here. We are forever caught in one point in time in the future, and the same moment rolls over again and again."

"The ultimate power of the Frozen Flame. The power which all seek to gain. That which is already in your hands."

"Power is worthless without control."

"Indeed! No one can control its power, unless he was the Arbiter himself. But still we have done well thus far. At the very least, we have tapped from it what we needed to achieve our goal. Already it is within reach, and soon it will be over. The past ten thousand years has certainly been hard on you."

"Nothing has been hard save for the fact that hardly I can find words to describe it. The passing of ten years is the same as that of one fleeting moment. Perhaps if I were a normal living being, then I would say that it has been long and wearisome."

"I see the Goddess knows humor."

"What humor that you think I have I don't. In any case, Dark Serge will walk past that door two days later, at exactly two hours and twenty-six minutes after midnight. What should follow after, I can no longer predict. It is my duty to inform you that you should leave this place before then."

"That will be two days away, so there's little to be worried about. For I trust fate and the delicate fabric of destiny: I will never stay long enough for him to find me. I'm here merely to bid farewell to a very old friend, and you have served your purpose well, I'm glad to say, though few would know of your noble deeds. But that is often true for heroes I fear! It just pains me to meet you for the first and last time and then at the end of it all, bid you goodbye."

"I need no recognition, for I would not appreciate any of it."

"For that we owe Prometheus gratitude. In what you now do, only the heartless will succeed. Those who harbor the slightest of feelings and those who desire and wish will err gravely."

At this, the old man flicked a wary glance at the fiery glow set within the sphere of glass. Immediately, the old man felt stinging in his heart a sharp pain, as if it was meant as a demonstration of certain reprisal from the brilliant flame. For that instant, he felt as if he had forcefully stolen from him his living breath. Sweat broke on his forehead like cold dews of a bitter icy morning while the vision in his eyes burst into all shapes and all colors. But as quickly as it came, the pain receded and life came back to him once more. After a deep, gratifying breath, he smiled and thought silently to himself.

"You do not seem well," said the cold voice of the lady.

"I'm a old man!" said the old man jovially. And then into laughter he burst.

x

x

x

The boundaries of this mind reached far beyond the spaces of the earth and the time of the world. And there lay in its void an inexplicable calmness deeper than the night. A consciousness drifted then into the void, and sadness carried in it disturbed the stillness. A troubled memory wavered in the darkness, like the depths of the ocean beneath a rippling surface:

A fortress formed of stone fashioned to the like of a great bird whose wings spread in flight proudly stood in the center of the world. Built by the inhabitants of the world, it was an epitome of their age and their evolution and a great shrine to great beings of that world, who in that world and tongue was known as the Powers. For these Powers gave light and night to the Planet, and wind, rain, fires and all things that grew also. And the followers worshipped the Powers like kings and they in their hearts were glad.

At some time, it was decided that an offering be made, and the followers wrought in the caverns below the seas a gift to the Powers. They poured their souls into it and, watered with the heart of the lands and the seas, slowly it blossomed. And a hundred years had passed before the toils of both people and the Planet bore fruit, and a crystal was born in the embrace of the Planet's elements. Its size was small: it could be held in the palm of one's hand. But its love was great. For the sea shimmered within its crystal and the salts of the land shaped around it a sturdy shell. And in it was stored full of memories and knowledge of souls who had passed on creating it.

At last the gift was brought before the Powers and they were moved. But when they learnt that many had perished crafting it they became upset. They doubted its need and for all gifts to the Powers they needed not one spilled by the blood of the people who enshrined them. Yet, the Planet's role also was great, and for the fact She assisted meant only that the gift was a necessary honor. Then for a time the great Powers hesitated. But at last, they accepted with shame and humility the precious crystal, and thereafter in their tongue named it the Spirit of the Planet, the embodiment of the Elements. And they guarded safely the crystal and its secrets within that were yet to be unlocked.

And a time came when a man that entered their world forebode an ill future. Dressed in blue robes and stroking his long white beard he said to the Powers, "At last I have found you and your world, and now with me you shall soon follow! Fear not! By your grace both our worlds shall be liberated from the one being known as Lavos."

"Who are you? And whence you come?"

"I am a prophet in a world where the histories of our worlds since the beginnings of my kind divided. But they soon will intertwine in ways beyond even my own imagination."

So ended the memories of the past, about the time another drifting consciousness entered this realm. Their presence could be sensed by the first, Words were not spoken but instead communicated through thought.

"Early as usual," thought one consciousness.

"This is where my mind sits comfortably, in darkness and deep meditation," replied the other. "We'll just wait for the rest."

One by one came the minds into the realm, until six had arrived, and a council proceeded.

"The Arbiter chooses his path and the end is in sight. To what end it will now lead depends on him. A dark shadow lies in the east, and out of it the fires of the red crimson star will rise and once more smother our planet in flames, if he fails."

"The Seventh is now poised," said the leader.

"And the wheels have already been set in motion. Ever our sleeps have been plagued by painful memories of the Great Battle ten thousand years ago. Time and again we ask why: Why did the Planet send us over? To witness how far the mutants have gone with the art of tempest and destruction? Surely we were weak against machines that have no souls, machines that feel no pain."

They fell silent. In the darkness of the mind a memory of the blue sky took shape. And the fortress stood within a sea of great bergs and glaciers. A great host of crafts of silver metal soared across from the east towards the great fortress and there they unleashed from their bellies pellets that struck the citadel with the cracks of thunder and scorches of fire.

Defenseless the fortress could but resign to the ruin brought upon them. But in desperation the Powers prayed to the Planet for salvation, and the Spirit of the Planet answered. Six components of the Elements burst forth as energy from the blue crystal and swept outward of the fortress, and the crafts of metal disintegrated. Men were seen falling from their crafts and plunging into the ocean, to their deaths. The crystal was thus shattered and its power lost, but the enemy was not broken. A great seal of flame enclosed the fortress and slowly into a depthless dark it consumed the Powers. In time the seal faded, and the fortress was left to stand without lord or owner.

"We fell to the enemy."

And night blotted out the memory.

"Ten thousand years has been too long a time to sleep behind the seal of fire. Once evil is cleansed and the seal broken, we shall wake from our sleeps. Together, we may yet live to witness the death of the red star and its progeny."

"Do not yet throw caution to the wind, if ever there is any here to speak of. The Seventh may still flounder. She may have our souls but still she remains human. Her heart already has been shaken."

"She will succeed," said the leader. "For only in her, we must have our faith. She will succeed."


	20. Book 3 Chapter 1 Lost Child of Time

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**Book 3**

**1 Lost Child of Time**

Serge fell head into the ocean after being cast by a force that threw him far beyond the shores of Opassa Beach. Fear was the desperation that drove his arms thrashing and legs kicking, but soon fatigue became the weight that dragged him under. After mouthfuls of water he had drunk and choked upon, he began a long fall toward the depths below. For long moments he held his breath as he watched above him the afternoon sun scattered by the waves of water. Gradually his heart pounded violently against his chest, as if in protest and in threat that it should cease to work if not duly fed. Against his will the tautness in his chest burst and gasped through his nose the cold of water. Pain seared and in his eyes a disarray of colors burst.

There and then into twain his vision split.

On the one side he saw distorted shapes and stars of blue, green, red and yellow smear his world. Like an axe that clove firewood, the pain in his chest clove his mind asunder. Thereafter, numbness slowly overwhelmed him and all sense of mortal pain slowly departed. Down and down like a feather he continued to drift, at times riding on the wild currents that swept him here and there. A school fishes swam past, veering and twisting about his helpless body. It was then a distant hope lingered in some corner of his eroding mind as he imagined they would in their effort lift him up into the surface above, lift his soul from death. But soon the living left the dying and hope left behind a vacant darkness. Irony was his last fleeting thought...

On the other, he was dragged by his neck and dragged up to the surface. There he choked and vomited and the day's breakfast expelled from his guts. He was dazed, confused and traumatized. When at last he reached the safety of the shore and was put gently lying down, he stared blankly at the clear blue skies above him. His head swam and his world swirled, until long moments later when gulls soared past the heavens above and recited in their voices a chorus of gentle poetry did he return to consciousness, his confusion dispel. This instant, he became aware of a young lady leaning close to him. Her drenched ponytail of blonde glistened in the afternoon sun, and from it seemed to drip the gold of honey. With sorrow and grief she regarded him, and seawater and tears washed her rugged face.

She spoke with a weeping voice, "Everything is all right now. Goodbye, Serge. Goodbye..."

Weariness sat heavily on his eyelids and slowly they shut the world from his eyes. As the words of the lady slowly faded into soft silence, he felt an ache throbbing with the very beat of his heart. Darkness embraced him with arms that could not be seen, but still he tumbled down a long tunnel, depthless and bottomless. And as he did, floating in his mind were the memories of this sorrowful young lady, her gold ponytail and her face that touched his heart with familiar warmth. He found bliss priceless and unspeakable, where unlike the beauty of the blossoming rose, or the joy of another's touch, they could be put into words. He found the bliss simple yet divine, above all levels of being, beyond any state of mind. But like all good things, they must come to an end. And to the end they came, as the memories there shattered and like broken glass the sharp fragments of its pieces hurt him.

Serge peeled his eyes open but darkness was all he could see, save himself. He felt his head split by a pain so terrible, so excruciating. For the moment he did nothing but let pass a short moment, till his head was clear, his mind sober. He struggled to sit up but his bones ached and strained so that he fell back. Then, he tried to rub his temples with his finger but felt instead a prick at his flesh. And when he examined his hands, he found that he now used paws rather and what pricked him were the tip of his sharp claws. For a long while he thought he now was in a dream, and from it he would soon wake. But after the long while passed, he began to recall vaguely the Sacrament, and he began to understand he was now in a nightmare from which he could never walk, a nightmare that now had trapped him within this hideous shell.

Like the flames of fire that licked at one's skin, pain suddenly seared intensely his abdomen. Blood still oozed, though slowly, from the wound of the dagger Kid had given him; and tears trickled for all the hurt his fragile heart had to bear. No more he could see her smile or hear her speak or under the twinkling stars of the night hold her in his arms tight, and where and when he could have prevented this miserable end he had failed. To the enemy, he lost Kid and both lost his friends save only the memories of them, intangible, untouchable. Overwhelmed with despair, he curled and pressed his arms against the wound and wept until sleep would steal him into another dream that he hoped was beautiful and never would wake from.

He was not certain how long it had been but he never did sleep. The world of slumber would not take him, and would instead seal him behind the doors of torment, ensnare him within a prison of truth. The physical hurt had subsided and the wound had closed, but in him the emotional hurt still lingered. Lost of will, dried of tears, he could cry no more but suffer worse in silence. He allowed himself to sink into dejection, and denial. He must be in hell, he was sure, for dark was his world and empty silence was all he heard. He was dead and he desired to stay as such. Most of all, he deserved such a fate, no more cruel than that of Kid's.

At length he eyes began to see, through a darkness that slowly melted, as if the dawn of a new day broke in this hell. As he lied curled in misery, the vision of a world appeared before him. Above him was a sky drab and pale, like the cheerless gloom of a clouded day. He lied on a dark footpath that, like the shadow of a snake, wound and spiraled and rose and fell and straddled by vast plains of gray, of monotony and of dreariness. There was no horizon as he eyes could tell, for the ground and the sky blended together in a great mass of gray. As if he looked through the thick of mist, the world seemed faded and washed. As if he looked through glass poorly made, the world and that long, dark path seemed twisted, distorted and above all else unreal. Then, an uncanny oddity troubled his eyes, for they could perceive no depth: no near and no far. And how long in distance the footpath led he could not tell, as if the world in his eyes were flat like the painting on a canvas.

When he rubbed his eyes with his paw to clear his vision, to observe this distorted world in better light, he had instead stuck between his lid strands of fur. He tried to blink and peel off the grim reminder that once more told him he was no longer human. But however hard he tried, the fur remained stubbornly stuck. Until he eventually gave up and decided that he would close his eyes from the desolation, and wait patiently until when the end of time would come and take him and all things living.

But then came to him this burning question: how long would it take for the end of time to arrive in a place where time told nothing of its presence? No sun climbed over the grey heavens, no moon hung from the gloomy skies, and nothing moved in this twisted world cast beyond the realms of sanity. Thus, it made good sense that he should shorten the wait and seek to slam his head against the floor till it cracked and all its worthless contents within spill. Or he should walk off the dark path and let himself fall off the sides to a bitter, smashing end. Or peel his wound open and let him slowly bleed away his life. There he did not stop, but went on pondering of the fastest way to die, until came a point when he had ideas too many that he did not know which would best, swift and painless. And to complicate his reasoning, he knew not if in this surreal world passing on to another plane was not amongst the rules of its nature, and dying a second time was wishful thinking. At this, he gave up once more, and concluded with the all common logic left in him that dying was pointless. Convinced that his mind had exhausted all possibilities, or that the possibilities had exhausted his mind, Serge continued to lie with his eyes closed.

The feeling of exasperation began to chew into his heart. And quickly through his veins it spread and engulfed him whole. His fingers began to twitch and his legs tremble, and harder and faster they did, as if in a moment he would explode and all over his soul would be scattered and forever lost in this miserable place.

It was then he heard a voice calling from a distance, and in the faint murmurs it seemed to call his name.

"Lynx! Lynx!" it softly said.

At first he imagined he must soon be falling asleep, and wandering between slumber and consciousness voices from the dream world must have been calling for him. But moments later, he the heard the same voice again, louder and clearer, but playful and in the gloom of this world sounded familiar.

"Ooh-la-la!"

That instant, the feeling of exasperation left him and when once he became capable of sound reckoning returned, he understood it would have been moments more before insanity would claim him. Silently glad that he had survived the awful struggle, Serge opened his eyes and sat up. Around him he looked, and about the twisting and shadowy paths he scanned, but little he could ascertain the direction of the voice. As flat as this world seemed to his eyes, the sound came from nowhere it seemed to his ears. Curiosity tickled his mind and anxiety raced with the beating of his heart. Then, he rose to his feet and strained his ears in hope that the voice would speak once more.

"Lynx! Will you stand there forever?" said again the unique voice of Harle. And the voice of Harle was that much Serge could be sure. For a while he wondered the reason for her presence here where no living thrived and the dead could not bear one moment longer before the waves of insanity would drown beneath their crushing power any mind. But soon his mind drifted to where her question had beckoned, as if it clung to her words like it were a lifeline cast to him amidst stormy seas. Yet, he knew little of how to reply, for even if in his eyes he saw the dark, endless paths that he could walk, surely to no good they must lead.

_What can I do? _Serge meant to say, but from his feline lips and tongue those clumsy words tripped and tumbled so that it sounded like "Art an I who?"

"You could leave this place, dear!" said the voice of Harle.

By the firm counsel of her words, she gave him strength and hope. But the fact that she called him Lynx was little encouragement for him. _There's nothing I can do. If I can leave here. _And while he struggled to articulate the words, they came out eventually slurred and even to his own ears, incomprehensible. "Airs arfing I an who. If I an reef here."

"O, there're tons of things you can do, but only if you want to in the first place!" said Harle, who seemed to have little trouble understanding him. "And first of them all, you should stop talking like that."

Serge took a long while to ponder, as if by being in this world it had numbed his senses. He opened slowly his mouth and then shut it. And then again and again, he opened and closed it as he loosened the muscles in his jaws. He felt the dryness cracking on his cheeks and the stretching of which set one layer of facial fur gruesomely grinding upon another. Then, with an effort that he found painful and laborious, as if he bore on his back many sacks of wheat and grain, he spoke at last.

"I should really stop talking like that."

"There! Give yourself a pat on the back! Now, walk yourself to the end of the road. I will be waiting!"

Walking on his new legs was to Serge a terrifying chore, and walking on a path that seemed to lead nowhere was to him fruitless endeavor. Already he was daunted by the winding and twisting road, by the folds on the lands that he must ascend and descend. Already he was tired that once more he should be led on the road already laid for him, without another option more to choose from. At this thought he kicked his feet into the ground and whipped up from it a thin mist of black sand. It must have been ink, he imagined, that lay the long, dark road before his eyes on a crumpled sheet of paper. But before the story even had finished, the owner of the quill had chosen to toss the page and him into a dump forgotten by time.

Finally, Serge dragged his tired feet. He pushed himself harder mentally than he had to physically. He trod on the path of the dark winding road, and with the rise and fall of the strange land he followed suit. Until came a point in time where he grew annoyed with conformity, and he wandered from the dark path into the straddling gray. Thereafter, he took the straight route and through the windings paths he cut towards its end as far as he eyes could see. His patience began to wear thin, for hours seemed to have past but the end was nowhere near, and Harle's voice never spoke. His steps became strides, strides became jogs and soon he found himself dashing across the distorted world. As he ran, he roared with his might and set loose from within him all his shackled emotions. As he ran harder, he listened with bitter pleasure the resounds of his mournful echoes.

Eternity must have spun a full cycle when Serge finally reached the end of the road, for it seemed to him countless generations had passed him by. And here he saw nothing but the vast emptiness of gray, and a long, dark trail behind him.

"Ooh-la-la! You are very late, non?" said Harle, and then, she appeared before Serge, floating on magic. Her motley costume appeared dull and gray. But bells that hung from the ends of her headwear tinkled gently in the silence, like soft, soothing music in the quiet of the night. "But I see more of you today than I have in the past ten years, Monsieur Lynx."

"What is it that you want, Harle?" Serge roared. "Why won't you let me die in peace?"

Harle gave an exaggerated gasp. "Does Monsieur Lynx want to die? What drives him to brink of such desperation, such despair? Tell me!"

"You are getting very annoying, Harle," said Serge. And with every word a painful struggle, he said them slowly. "Leave this place and leave me alone!"

"What a delight it is to annoy Monsieur Lynx! Every time I try to annoy him, he stares at me coldly. I am beginning to like you!"

Like a dancer, Harle wheeled gleefully about her toes. Gracefully, she floated down to the ground and with much respect she bowed before Serge.

"I can accede to only one of your commands, Monsieur Lynx. I will leave this place, but I'm afraid I have to take you with me!"

"I have no reason to go with you. And I am not your Monsieur Lynx."

"Tsk tsk tsk," Harle arched backward and wagged a finger. "Do you still believe you are Serge? Just look at you. No one in the right mind will believe you are Serge."

"As long I do!"

She raised an eyebrow, as if she wondered how he could not fathom logic and sense. And thus, she explained, with gestures of both arms animated beyond necessity, "It is simple: If everybody says that you are Monsieur Lynx, then--"

"Then, what?"

She leapt into the air and flipped a full three-sixty. As she drifted gracefully down to the ground, she said with murmur with all intent to tease and mock, "Voila! You are Lynx. That is who you are! That is reality! It's but a game! If you try to play a different set of rules and go against reality, it will surely crush you and it will kill you. And reality will continue to go on as if nothing happened: from yesterday to today; and from today to tomorrow. Reality marches on, leaving your crushed body behind."

She cast him an observing glance, but surely she must know that he was not convinced. Then, she shrugged with a look of indifference and suddenly she disappeared from where she stood. Amidst the gray, a figure soon appeared, one who donned the same clothes as the seventeen year-old Serge and the same red bandana. That instant, the real Serge raised his paws and poised himself for a showdown. But the image of the young Serge spoke and through his lips came to his ears the voice of Harle.

"In reality, you died ten years ago in the other world," said the image of the young Serge. "How can you say for sure this is the real you? Maybe for you it is evident, but... I wonder if you ever really were Serge? Furthermore, what was this Serge? A figure? A shape? A spirit? A soul? Where was this Serge?"

The real Serge did not quite know the answer and kept his thoughts to himself.

"Find the Dragon Tear, and you may rediscover yourself."

"The Dragon Tear? The artifact that was used for the Sacrament."

"Hmm? Did I say too much? How you exist is defined by how others accept you. Ask anyone and you'll know who you really are. But oops! You won't find anyone to ask I fear, not in this place at least! So come on, let's go. We don't have the time to be dawdling here, otherwise we may truly get lost in time! I can't afford to lose you just yet."

She seized his wrist and tried to drag him from where he stood rooted, but he resisted and wrenched off her grip. Then, she turned to him, tilted her head and regarded him with a look of puzzle.

"I am not going with you!" he exclaimed, but with none the urgency he would like to have mustered. His jaws were of those of a wild beast that needs taming aplenty. "W-Wherever you are taking me."

"I'm taking you home!" she said while she clapped her hands and waved him to her like she waved over a crawling child. "Come. Be good now! I'll buy you lots of sweets and candy. I'll throw in a few dolls and teddy bears if you'll just hold my hand and come with me."

"I don't deserve to be home, when all my friends are dead," said Serge as wistfully as he did ruefully.

"Oh!" exclaimed Harle, as if after so much he had to say she finally understood his feelings. "Monsieur Lynx is concerned about his friends, non? Will it do if I tell you, that they are still alive and kicking?"

Her words struck in his heart a chord of hope, and with the harmony of her tinkling bells it raised his spirits and lit a small glitter of light in his eyes. But still he regarded Harle cautiously, and wondered as he hoped if what she had just said was true.

"How can that be true?" he said softly. "I saw Kid--"

Harle bit her lips in deep thought. "The first will need more than a stab to do her in. The other two will wake from a nightmare at worst. Now, the last of the four... Hmm. He's the tricky one. Ah! I know exactly what to do with a retard. I'll leave him here to sulk till the cows come home. Goodbye!"

She waved and joyfully hopped away. With an unseen cord she tugged at his yearning and lugged it away with her. Precious little effort she had to spend to draw Serge away from the world that reeked only of lifeless stale. On his accord, Serge began to follow, and once more he found himself walking on a path already laid before his feet. What choice did he have in the matter, when Harle had clearly touched a soft spot in his heart? So it was that he must walk, for hours upon hours more, until she would lead him out of this world, back into the one from where he came.

Long was the journey his legs had to carry him through and still the end of it all could not be seen. Even with this new and sturdy frame, exhaustion and gloom quickly was wearing his strained mind. He tried to veer his stray thoughts away from Kid for he knew that there he could only find the burden of anxiety waiting to bear down on him. And rather than being fed constantly by the sallow gray of the world, he sought solace in the gentler memories of his childhood, his village and his friends behind his closed eyelids. But as the road went on for long miles after another, like an avalanche that rolled and swelled, Kid began to dominate the greater parts of his thoughts. Finally, he spoke.

"How is Kid?" said Serge. "Do you have news of her whereabouts and well-being?"

At this, Harle stopped and so did Serge. She turned and glowered and with a tone of displeasure, she reminded him, "I've come a long way here to save you, in case you forget."

"You... You have not done anything to her, have you?"

"What gratitude!" she frowned. "You're so very welcome, Monsieur Lynx!"

"I meant no offense, but still I would like to know."

"Don't mention it!" she waved, ignored Serge and continued the long walk.

"Harle!" called Serge stubbornly, but not a word more Harle would speak.

He hauled his feet and over the shapeless land he forged ahead. As concern began to ease and fears allay, his senses became deeply aware of the further oddities where he now walked. If he spoke to Harle when she was by common measure ten feet from him, she always took a while to reply, as if his voice traveled great distances between them. At times she looked very small, at times very large. Even if no depth he could perceive, surely she must be further or nearer. Yet he had made no effort to catch up or fall behind. Now and then a field of distortion would come between them both and Harle would suddenly seem twisted in figure. And when Harle seemed to walk a straight path before him, she would on occasion appear to have veered off left or right.

"What is this place?" he asked Harle

"The correct question to ask is: what is this time?"

Once more her riddle had him puzzled.

"This is a cleft that lies between broken continua of time."

"A cleft? You don't mean a big pit, do you?"

"Quite like that. Like a hole in time, a great, big irreparable hole. Plenty of them there are all over time, if you know where and _when _they are and how to get to them. Temporal disruptions, or time storms, from as far away as the stars may cause them to appear. And when someone meddles with time, they can also form. Some holes can bring the future to you, or they can bring you to the future. Some are like doors and can bring you to another place altogether. Some are as big as towns, some little as raindrops. You've seen the fog and all the ghosts? That must have come from some other place and time. But this particular piece here was born precisely when the future divided ten years ago."

"Is that why my vision seems distorted? It's like looking through water that doesn't move. Makes me dizzy just trying to follow you, but go not where I see you go. How do you know where to go?"

Harle stopped and turned.

"Don't you see that faint purple green in the distance?" she quizzed as she pointed. "Light could not bend as much I suppose. We may take the long winding route at times. But if we have it always in sight, we'll get to it in no time."

"I don't see anything. Everything looks bleak and grayish."

"Oh I see. It's your cat's eyes, dear. It's quite dark here, so that's why your vision is grayed out. But if you feel dizzy trying to follow, I could hold your hands!" she offered gleefully.

"N-No! No!" stammered Serge. "No, thank you."

"Suit yourself. As to why this place is such, I could not explain better than you just did yourself. There are more anomalies in this world beyond your comprehension, Monsieur Lynx. Many more of them you have yet to see."

"How often will I see things as unnatural?"

"This _is_ Nature, Monsieur. And here we have a piece of art as a result of action and reaction."

"Hmm... I think I get the idea."

"You have to! I don't think I fancy repeating that. But I have a name for this place! Would you like to hear?"

"You gave this place a name?"

"Do I tickle you? I call it, Field of Chaos. Appropriate, no?"

"I'm not quite sure."

Harle chuckled. "Come! I don't know what time is it, but I know do we don't have much of it left!"

What felt like another several hours passed, and Serge's feet already had become weary. But slowly what Harle had said was a patch was beginning to take shape, and as they approached, light began to paint his vision in color and the world around him gradually faded into pitch black. A circle whose edges bled tones of purple and green hung against darkness, but through it was cast an image familiar. Red trees of the Ba species stood gnarled upon the banks of brown marshes, and here and there lay the long, moist shrubs of green and poisonous yellow. Rays of dawn fell through the riddled canopy, and over the muddy banks cast the swaying shadows of leaves. A thick mist lay over the marsh, and some it seemed had drifted their way into this world, so that all about the circular portal seemed eerily smoky. The colors seemed different from what he remembered, and now they looked less vibrant and all shifted in hue. But beyond that portal he could see depth, and for a moment he appreciated distance.

"Home," he said unconsciously.

His flesh grew increasingly sensitive to the warmth from the world beyond, and was to him the gift as of red hearth burning in the cold nights of winter. He was eager to forget his experience in this world where only darkness and the bitter chill prevailed. And so when he again muttered the word "Home," a smile came to his lips.

x

x

x

Six hours later by Serge's reckoning, they came at last to the boundary of the portal, and through it Harle stepped. He followed and found his feet settle gently on firm ground. Then he closed his eyes, let the embrace of the afternoon in a real world wrap him and let sink his mind into a hollow of momentary joy.

"Does this place look familiar to you, Monsieur Lynx? Do you need me to tell you where we are?"

"I already know," he said confidently. "The Hydra Marshes."

"But do you know which world we are in now? Yours? Kid's? Or another world altogether."

Serge opened his eyes and stared blankly at her.

"Ah!" she said disappointedly. "Just as I thought. This is your world, Monsieur Lynx, where you did not die ten years ago."

"It's my world!" he said and tears welled up in his eyes. His throat quivered until no longer he could withhold, and out came a drop trickling down his cheek. "Thank you, Harle!"

"Ooh," she hopped back and spread her arms wide. "I owe my life to Monsieur Lynx. In return of this debt, I'll do anything to keep his. Let's go, now. We must make haste and get to your enemy in the next world. Time and tide will not wait for you I fear."

Just a moment," he sniffed. "You say 'we?'"

Harle looked cross. "Yes, we, of course! We look for Leena and Glenn and that golden ponytail, and then we fight Serge."

"Fight Serge? You mean fight Lynx? Are you not working with him?"

"Ah!" she said in exasperation and with a smack to her forehead. "Monsieur Lynx forgets. I still am working with you, Monsieur Lynx, no? If you want to look for your friends, it is I who you need, and I who you must now trust. As always has been, even if you disliked it! So you had best get used to having me tag along."

"I-"

"No I. No you. And no buts! Lead the way, Monsieur!"

Here and now he found himself, like a soft tree in the wind, swayed by the possibility that her sincerity was true. But there in his mind seethed a flame that fed upon the fuel of distrust, so that at his ears and eyes it burned furiously. War broke out between one mind and the other, and its drums he heard pounded at his heart and ears. Alas, he failed to translate fear into voice and this would prove in the several hours ahead an internal struggle.

Hard as rock had become the feeling that he was the one who tagged along.


	21. Book 3 Chapter 2 New Beginnings

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**Book 3**

**2 New Beginnings**

The first sensations of his home world were to Serge sweet like wine at first, but grew unpleasant like the bitter of that searing at the tip of his tongue. At every moment he was in all earthly aspects aware of himself, the subtlety of consciousness now teasing and emphasized at the every endings of his nerves. For that reason, Serge walked with his eyes fixed as straight and far as he could. There was nowhere near his feline physique he would lay his eyes on and thus would remind him of how unceremoniously this cruel fate befell. So rather he would adjust his sights toward an ultimate purpose. Yet it came to him as a thought chilling as the cold of the winds in the storm. For his purpose now seemed to lie beyond thick mist and winding paths, beyond where strong hearts and flesh even would find too far to reach.

Today, his story had only just begun. But long before this day, already the burden weighed on him, great as the mass of the world until distant stars and space condensed into tight confines. Yet in his tumultuous world there was nothing he could see that reflected the onset of turmoil, only an ironic imbalance of peace that disturbed his mind and left him absorbed in such jealousy. About him a gentle breeze stirred and the leaves of trees rustled softly. Above him birds soared and sang poetries of pride and joy. In this world, the sun shone and the seas moved. Life went forging ahead with the every passing of time, ignorant of the insignificance of his that slowly trod past.

Serge said nothing towards the path to Opassa Beach, where even the angels would lose their way. He was focused on returning to the other world, and then the journey with his friends would pick up from where they left off.

"A fair day it is, Monsieur Lynx, don't you think? The climate here is excellent, unlike the other world. Back there errands would have me under the awful heat of the sun. But here I would run more of them for you, if you so command. Do you have something to finish today?"

Serge cast a glance at her, but said nothing. He knew better than pick a fight, in words or in strength.

"You have spoken nothing. Why won't say something?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Have you no thoughts that you would like to share? Stories? Jokes? Something?"

"Some are difficult for you to swallow, I feel."

"Should you let me decide instead if I find it difficult to swallow?"

"Well... if you insist." Serge cleared his throat and spent a short moment composing his words. "I have been thinking why you must save me, and then follow me around, when for so long you have been with Lynx." Here, he paused to observe her reaction, to verify if he had already gone too far. When what he felt was Harle prompting him, he decided to continue. "Your knowledge in the Elemental arts surpasses mine. And I-I'm just a nobody: a young child lost in the vast reality of the world. But here you are, walking with me. So, either I'm wrong about myself, so that I am someone who can help you in ways I cannot now imagine. Or, you love to waste your own time."

"Just tell me you are suspicious."

"Am I wrong to be?"

"Not at all."

"Are you disappointed?"

"No. And neither am I surprised you waited till now."

"Will I have any answers?"

"Will you trust me, Monsieur Lynx?"

In heart and mind he was torn between two worlds. The greater half of him had long decided that her presence was a precious value to his team of companions. That value could not be put in words, for it came to him as an instinct deep in the weavings of his consciousness. But the other half clearly realized only what great peril into which she would cast him. How was he to tell which was accurate? Seventeen years of the world had not yet given him the means to read people beyond their actions, beneath their words and into their eyes. Should his intuition be mistaken, there might come a terrible, red dawn when he would not wake from his sleep, for his purpose had been fully exploited and use milked dry. Darkness would consume him, swiftly and silently, and history, thereafter, mattered no longer. Such an end would indeed be costly to pay for listening to his heart, even if not at all deserved. Yet, it seemed events had been cast, for even if he resisted he might not shake off her persistence. But he attempted it anyway.

"I don't want to end up like the general," he said.

"Well, if you continue this way, our journey together in the days ahead will be very difficult. Would you like that?"

"We can do it another way--our separate ways. What will it take for you to leave?"

"Ooh. Is that a threat? It's so hurtful it aches," she said with a clutching fist at her chest. "But already you know, don't you? The answer is nothing."

"Then what about what I need to know?"

"I know less than you think I do."

"You don't know or you don't wish to tell me?"

Harle sighed and shook her head. Like soft gentle chimes the bells at the end of her headdress jingled. "Does it make you feel easier if I said I don't want to tell you? What difference is it to you? Either way, you get to know nothing. Either way, I'm not going to leave. You'll have to trust me, dear. Right now, what you need is not answers, but patience!"

"Patience. In such a huge world? I will not live beyond its lifetimes before the answers dawn on me."

"What utter pessimism!" she snapped. "Do you think the world is huge? It's only huge in relation to how little you perceive yourself to be. Monsieur Lynx, you have in you this flame that could give you the strength against your and our deadliest enemies, or it could consume you whole and leave behind only ashes drifting in the long cold years to come. You can continue to behave like a pussy cat, or you can start acting like a man, like that Monsieur Lynx of yours did."

"I-I am _no _pussy cat!" he said.

He fell silent. For a long while, he said nothing while he felt his neck burn as if the heat of sun had turned on him. And for that long while, he walked with his head drooping in shame. Harle, it seemed, enjoyed the spectacle and cast consistently cheeky glances as if she intended to humiliate. As hard as he tried to muster a strong defense against her disparaging expressions, he found himself constantly humbled by her gleaming pride. And for nearly the quarter of the hour he slipped behind walls of silence, until at last she spoke.

"You are our future," she said. "Only you can shape it."

"W-Will I be able to see that future?" he asked.

Harle raised her brows and looked at the skies in wonder. "Ooh-la-la! I think you'll see it before many others do. Let's head to the other world. And see if you are still welcome."

x

x

x

Following a lengthy walk westwards across the central continent, they ended their trail at Opassa Beach just an hour after noon. A cool summer breeze swept landwards from the sea and tickled the fur on Serge's face. The snowy edges of the tide lapped softly up and rolled down the quiet shores. Here a crow found itself landing gently on the white sands and then pecking into it in search of fuel for another leg of its journey. But there beyond the safety of shallow waters a flock of cranes cruised in low flight above the ocean blue, until the far south and into fading horizons. Further along the coast lay a Beachbum on its back between land and sea bathing in the washing waves.

Serge held the Astral Amulet in his hand, but beneath his chest a queer boding stirred as did the breeze to the fallen, withered leaves near his feet. Slowly he walked to where the gate should be found, but saw nothing the likes of it. He saw no shadow cast on the sands, and no flakes of light of white that rose to the sky. For a while he thought he had forgotten where the gate lay and thus, he walked around the beach in search of the door that led to the other world. But he grew anxious when the door seemed to have disappeared, the path through it sealed off. In the cool of the wind he found himself soaked in frantic perspiration. Then, he looked to Harle, who had only stood and watched, less helpfully than he would have expected.

"The gate is gone!" exclaimed Serge.

"It is?" she said as she walked over, bent and examined the sand. Then she sighed, as if wearily.

"Why is it gone?" asked Serge impatiently.

"I can only guess, Monsieur Lynx," said Harle as she stood to her feet. Then, she brushed her hands and rid them of the sand.

"Guess it then!"

"The missing piece to that world has been found," she explained with a pinch of seriousness. "Ten years before, you died in the other world and so left a gap there. Such was this gap--an imbalance--that created the gate so that you may travel between both worlds. Following the Sacrament, the body of Serge now belongs to the other world. The balance has restored, the gap filled. So the gate closes. Quite simple really."

"That doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't?"

"You say that gap was created ten years before, when I died in the other world. But only a week ago did I become aware."

"Well, I would speculate that it first appeared when Kid arrived from Zenan onto the soils of El Nido. She, too, was a significant part of the whole that created the imbalance. That was when you fell into the gate and then first met her shortly after, remember?"

Serge blinked and exhaled. He thought he should he reply but the words fleeted past the dark depths of his mind and like the faint star that fell in the black of night, was quickly forgotten. His tongue seemed as tied as the great many lines of thoughts forming between and behind his eyes.

"What? What now?" he asked.

Harle spread her arms and looked as if the answer could not be clearer. "Restore the imbalance, of course."

"How do you propose we do that?"

"I don't know," she said before she made a curious face.

"Can't we return to the Field of Chaos and return to the other world from there?"

"The way was in only," Harle shrugged. "Maybe the gate closed when I entered the Field of Chaos, who knows? There's no way back into the other world now. And there's little we can do except this: walk where our feet take us."

Serge closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Here, another great obstacle stood between his world and the next, and most of all between him and his enemy. And now, even the jester of wit and candidness before him could offer no word of advice, save for riddle after riddle of pointless banter. This was road's end. His journey seemed over, for even if he so desired to proceed he had been given no option to. Here he was but an unwanted piece shut out by a lock whose key had been thrown away. Behind the severed choices and closed doors, his mind wandered aimlessly until it found itself at the doorsteps of his hut and there it longed for the warmth upon for his return. When all the doors to him had been sealed shut, the doors into his home opened, and thereafter he saw himself fall into the embrace of his only kin.

"Let's go home," said Serge suddenly.

"What?" begged Harle, as if in protest.

He opened his eyes and gently he smiled at her. "Let's go back to Arni."

She paused and pondered and soon in her eyes light glimmered.

"Ooh-la-la! You are ready to face your people at home?"

Serge fell silent for a short moment.

"I have to try."

x

x

x

Like the coming of dusk in the still of night, silence suddenly fell. When Serge walked into his home village, the faces of smiles and laughter crumbled as quickly as the stir of the winds and in no time all were hushed. Caution instead spoke loudly through their eyes that fell on the baleful combination that was both the sharp, silver weapon and his feline form. In some corners of their memories they must recall that a young seventeen-year-old instead wielded one weapon such as a swallow. But his new form now became the margin that carved a great rift his true self and their acceptance. By now, the villagers had huddled into two great crowds. And in the light of the day, the stillness could not hold. Soon a word or two was whispered, and then more. Terror melted into doubt, and doubt then degraded into rumors, until came a point when all the soft words were of disasters and stoning, of killing and of retribution.

A young girl ran into Serge and fell to her bottoms, and upon her notice of him quickly broke into tears. Serge tried to help her, but found the innocent child struggling to wriggle far from his grasp. The parent of hers ran to her and hauled hastily the child far from his reach and gaze. Some few days before, he recalled, he had been put through such ordeal, and this day again the people he grew up with cast him beyond their little world. The rejection was ever so familiar but this time undoubtedly real such as the prick of a pin on flesh would tell.

"What kind of an attitude is that?" said Harle, an eyebrow raised. "Not even a word of gratitude. Have you not seen demi-humans before? Look harder and I'll smack your derrieres so hard, you'll fly to the moons!"

"Seen it we have!" shouted a villager. "But not of such devilry!"

Harle gasped, as if startled. "Devilry even we mean no harm?" she asked.

"Who, then, in the world are you things?"

It was then that anxiety seized the moment. And in the haste of his speech, Serge tripped over his words. "I'm... We're... Serge."

Whilst the villagers began to whisper amongst themselves, Una, the younger brother of Leena, stood out against much of the tugs and dissuasion from the adults.

"That cat-thing is Serge?" he said. When from the adults he struggled free, he yelled, "Give me a break! Our Sergey is human! Read my lips. HUMAN!"

Soon, it came to Leena's turn to come pushing through the crowds. When she saw Una confront Serge, she came between them both, arms spread in defense.

"What are you up to, you beast of a thing!" she said curtly, but not the least unexpectedly.

As Serge approached her, he said, "Leena, listen to me--"

"Don't'! Don't c-come near me!" she yelled, but already her face had turned pale and clearly at her feet she quivered. Even the tone in her voice shuddered with fear. "H-How did you even know my name?"

This while, Marge walked out of her house and here the attention of the village turned to her.

"What is going on?" she said. "I heard Serge's name?"

"Mrs. Marge, this monster claims he's Serge!" said Una. "And he's just full of it."

"What?" asked Marge.

"Obviously a lie, Mrs. Marge!" warned Leena. "This is ridiculous! Serge indeed! You can just walk into our village and claim that you are anybody."

"I-I..." were the words Serge could find.

With each word the voice of Leena became stronger, and firmer as did her feet on the ground. Up in the air were both her fists ready for a brawl if the circumstance so required. At her gaze he felt a blade of blue frost lay on better memories of their past wounds too bitter to imagine. The friend whose opinions were as stubborn and unmovable as the heaviest of mountains had never once regarded him in such a way as hostile and unforgiving as this moment. But her bravery in such face of terror became the unspoken bidding that stirred and called forth the stronger of the villagers, and quickly before the crowds they took their stand, with sticks, stones, and weapons of such in their hands. Solidarity now held together the stones of their walls and a fight so it seemed was imminent.

"Get out!" she demanded. "Get out of our village, now!"

"Hold your fire!" said Harle with a hand raised. "We didn't come to create trouble. Give us a moment to explain ourselves!"

"What is there to explain?" shouted a stout villager.

"Now, now!" said Harle with a smile. "My friend here is not nearly as good with his tongue as I would have liked. But I believe he never said he was Serge."

When Harle cast a glance at Una, his face flushed red as the fire of the sun. Then, she cast another at Serge, who, in all honesty, was appalled by her twist and wondered what precisely was up her tricky sleeves.

"We are friends of Serge," she explained. "Some of you may be aware that Serge has gone on a journey. But ever his heart is with you great folks and in his home here."

"Has anything happened to him?" asked Marge fearfully.

"He is safe," said Harle quickly, "but he's still somewhere, er, stuck. So we return on his behalf to bring news of him."

Marge eased though relief was still not yet apparent.

"How do we know you are telling the truth?" said Leena. "That you are not making that up? Show us some proof."

Harle cast a glance at Serge, and in that expression requested for an answer. He took a while to scour his occupied mind in search of anything to win the hearts of his own villagers. Just when it seemed like the villagers were getting impatient, he spoke. "Your Komodo scale necklace. He never takes it off his wrist."

"Leena, is that the case?" asked a villager.

Leena's gaze fell to the ground and slowly she nodded. Like the rays of the sun that spilled over the edges of clouds that opened, a blissful smile peeked through the corners of her lip. What one could see were not the tall walls that she had raised in stubborn defiance but the emanation of her emotions from her now beaming eyes. Whilst in the passing of this twinkle she seemed to have forgotten the rest of world, the nervous silence amongst the villagers began to melt away and amongst themselves they began to talk. When some of them felt danger receded and at last lost interest of the commotion, they decided to return to their chores. Gradually the crowd dispersed and less than half of them remained to watch the episode conclude. It was at this moment Marge walked to Serge and Harle, and with wary and caution started a search for answers.

"You say Serge has something for me?" she asked.

Harle looked around, but seemed reluctant to reveal more of their story. "Wouldn't you invite us back to your home?" she asked politely.

Leena broke free of her spell of daze and then hurried over and tugged Marge by her hand. "No! Mrs. Marge!" she protested. "Let's wait till Serge returns. They might still be up to no good."

The remaining villagers made noise. Some still were unforgiving, but others had turned sympathetic. This while, a cloud drifted below the path of the sun and a dim shade soon swept over the roofs of Arni and the faces of all.

"Come on in then," said Marge under the passing of the shadow and gladly Serge followed. Leena tried to voice her dissent but found words tumble through her lips as inaudible stammers. Harle walked past and showed Leena what look she just might give to a child.

When Marge led them to the doorstep of Serge's home, she paused. Just this while the clouds overhead slowly drifted from the rays of the sun and once more the grounds of Arni glowed in its light. But in that while the world saw passing the many insignificant of moments, where each felt like the age of a lifetime. A light breeze from the sea drew a fresh scent from over the coral borders of El Nido, past the lands and valleys and soon to the next side of the world. The long grass in the fields swayed to its strength and in harmony they danced to its silent rhythm heard only by the essence of the earth. So Serge found himself lost deep in the beauty of the world, so that when he realized, his feet already was in his house. He stole a look at his home behind closed doors, but before he would be lost amidst its sweet nostalgia, he found himself interrupted.

"I'll let him introduce himself," said Harle. "He will know who he exactly is."

And the eyes of Marge settled on Serge.

"Sir," she said. "Thank you for taking care of Serge. But I still don't know your name."

Suddenly Serge became aware of his heart that pounded like the drums of thunder and each crack exploded in his ears.

"Mom," said Serge, who could resist no longer the secret that she must know.

With a mild tone of disbelief, she asked, "What?" Doubt wrinkled about her eyes.

"I _am _Serge."

With her hand she covered her mouth, and with the voice from her eyes she screamed her shock. For the longest of moments, she was speechless. Until at last when Serge began to feel discouraged, she uttered.

"No! But you said...!"

"Harle said that to allay your fears. I'm sorry I can't be myself."

"W-What is going on here?"

With much eagerness Serge began his account from that fateful day of the dream and until all that she already was aware of. Quickly he brought her through familiar territories and what she should have already known. The look in her soft yet questioning eyes at times was comforting, at times troubling. And when he had said enough to ascertain his identity, she made no movement more than a doubtful glance. At this he felt compelled to lead her by her hand through the climbs and descends of his whole journey between the two worlds. And so he did, slow as he could, so that she must see his path as if she walked it.

At last, by the end of the account he had won her attention and no longer, he could sense her qualms. The light from the window shimmered in her misty eyes and in them he saw the reflections of two torn and devastated by ill twists of fate. Her emotions were kept behind quivering lips until a cough of anguish broke through and then, her gaze shied from Serge in sorrow. Relief washed over him as wind drifted over the living green of grasslands; it brought an ache to his heart. Soon he, too, began to weep the tears of regret and of joy, each drop none too precious to shed. But there they stood awkwardly in the living room, the distance between them both vast as the emerald seas that divided two shores.

"Ooh," said Harle suddenly. "I have some business I must to attend to!" That said, she leapt and into thin air she faded.

When tears at last dried, Marge looked up and at Serge. Slowly she approached him. She laid a hand on the fur of his cheeks and from the tingle in her fingers he felt her pain. No longer could he bear the distance between them both, and so in longing for dear touch he held his mother in his arms.

"You've been through so much!" she said. "I knew something would happen one day, but never in this way."

"You knew?" Cold seized his mind. "H-How?"

Marge drew several breaths before she left him and walked to the window where she rested an elbow on its sill. With her thoughtful eyes she then gazed into the sky. Then, all fell quiet it was not until long moments later before she spoke.

"I've kept it for so long and I hoped there never was a need to tell you this. But I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to. Call it sixth sense. Call it fate. 'The Sea of Eden.' That was where that man Lynx told you to go, was it not? I don't know about gates and different worlds, but I do know this. If, as you say, something big is on the verge of happening, then it may have begun fourteen years ago. Do you remember?"

"The panther. I remember that... very well."

Marge nodded and drew another breath. "The villagers found you just before the next bite that would have taken you. But still you were seriously poisoned from its first. They hauled you back home but there were no doctors in our village who could save you. Not even those in Guldove. At that time, we knew of only one who might have had the skill and craft to bring you back. And so your father, Wazuki, and Leena's father, Miguel, set out to sea with you to Marbule, the village of the demi-humans, where the witch doctor lived. Your father wasted no time, spared no effort. But fate had made a sport of you three.

"It wasn't long after you left our shores before the evening sky grew dark with storm clouds. Rain fell. I recall seeing a turbulent column of water swirling into the sky. That, being early summer, was never a season of rain; and rarely in El Nido would you see storms as terrible. Yet that very evening, waves crashed wildly upon our coasts and the high tides swept in. From what I little I knew from your father, your boat was swallowed in the storm and you were all knocked out. When your father and Leena's came to, they found themselves in a place they would never have thought to enter. No creative living, not even the fearless, would have dared. We now call that place the Dead Sea."

Serge stood frozen. As if winter had come, the seasonal wind of cold crept and stirred beneath his fur. It was no chill from the fear but the stark realization of a truth kept sheltered from his knowledge for so long. Before, the chapters of his past had been thick to read. Slowly and painfully a page after another they had been revealing to him their meanings blotted in dark ink. They had been tangled amongst the insignificant, so that it had made those that mattered complex and difficult to sift. But now the pages were beginning to connect, a story was beginning to take shape. It now surfaced like the pages of a book flipped to where the central theme was revealed, the plot deepened.

That he now knew that between fourteen years ago and today he entered where few or none had been before. There must be more that he did not yet know but now was waiting for his discovery. And there must be more that he could deduce from just this alone. Already he could conclude with a good degree of confidence that surely it was not of his choice such a path had been taken. For none beyond his wildest he would have thought to set foot in the Dead Sea, and thought he had done so. By what great doing, or undoing, they would have the means into the forbidden he did not know. But he wished he did.

"Back then it was called the Sea of Eden," said Marge.

Over the deep of his mind came cruising a feeling, strange and foreboding. His brows furrowed in thought as he tried to grasp that feeling and make a firm sense of it. Soon it fleeted past and left behind in its wake a lingering trail of discomfort.

"B-Back then?" he said. "I... I don't quite remember."

Marge turned to him. "I do. I remember standing at the pier praying for your safe return. When at last I saw your boat, it was great relief. Your father returned with you well. Unfortunately, we never saw Miguel again. I knew very little from your father. I never knew what happened to Miguel at the end. I never knew what exactly happened in the Sea of Eden or what miracle it was that made you well again. I tried, Serge. He was never like that. He... was a changed man."

She paused and turned to the window once more.

"He even--" Her voice cracked.

Serge walked to her and supported her at her shoulders. "Mom, if you don't want to..."

"I'm fine, Serge," she assured. After a deep sigh, she continued, "Not long after, your father sailed out to sea and never returned. People say over-exhaustion drove him that way. I don't think so. Something must have happened in that place; that accursed place. Something must have possessed him."

This while the door to his home swung open and from it walked in Radius, Chief of Arni. This same while, Harle appeared between him and Serge, poised for guard and audacity.

Said Radius, "Are you the ones everybody's--" There, he stopped and scanned Serge and Harle. His intention to protect became doubt; doubt became disbelief and all soon Serge could see in his eyes were the flames of rage. "Lynx! And you imp! I cannot believe that you both are still alive? What are you doing here? Have you both now stooped so low as to terrorize innocent villagers? Step outside! I must put a stop to you. For I, too, was once a valiant member of the Acacia Dragoons."

"Lah-la-la," sang Harle with cheer and all intent to sneer. "Old geezer, I wouldn't show off like that. That is if you want to live. Do not underestimate our strength. One blow and it's off to the moon with you!"

"Silence!" roared Radius, whose voice shook the house. Already he had his walking stick wielded in his hand as he would if it were a sword. The cold, unshaken resolve in his eyes reminded Serge once more that he was an unwanted piece of the puzzle, an outcast of his villagers.

"Please stop it at once, Radius," said Marge. "You're mistaken. He's not who you think he is. He's Serge."

"What?" The rage burning in his eyes doused and to disbelief it ebbed. And as he lowered his walking stick, all that remained written between his brows was doubt.

Radius walked past Harle, who seemed annoyed by the lack of his attention. She came between him and tried to obstruct his path to Serge, but found herself rudely pushed aside. Even at her verbal protest Radius found it unnecessary to be concerned. Instead he walked up to Serge and glowered at him in the eye. Serge tried to hold fast his gaze but very soon he found it flitting across corners of his house unwittingly.

"I don't sense the same malice as Lynx," Radius concluded. "But are you really Serge? How can that be?"

Already the day began to set in the west, and the skies turn into the gold of dusk. Serge again reiterated tirelessly his journey to Radius, detail after detail. He told it with no drama but as cold and hard as he had experienced. There, for the next quarter of an hour, Radius stood patiently listening and only listening, veering through one twist in his story after another. He did not move a finger or twitch a brow. And he said no more until Serge finished what he had to say.

"I've heard of the Dragon Tear," mused Radius as he stroked his beard. "But two worlds, whose future divided ten years ago! Uncanny, but not unthinkable. And you say another me exists in this other world. That is most intriguing. But if you are Serge, then why are you still carrying this baggage around?" He fixed his cautious eyes on Harle.

"She...She helped me," said Serge. "She's on our side now."

"That's her price? I'm sure she wants more than just be on your side."

Serge cast a glance at Harle, who responded with the biting of her lips and a look of innocence. "I-I shouldn't think so."

Radius frowned. "You shouldn't? There is naught but treachery and deceit behind that mask of hers. Do not tell me that you trust her entirely."

Serge looked about. "I think I trust her."

Radius' gaze shifted between Harle's and Serge's and surely he was reading into their minds. At the end, Radius snorted and there tension slowly eased. Yet, his brows were locked in contemplation and thought as he spoke again. "Then what will you do now?"

Serge heaved a long sigh. "Honestly, I wish somebody would tell me."

"I would!" interrupted Harle. "Where else besides the--"

"I thought so," said Radius as he slowly stroked his beard. Wisdom and deep thought lined his forehead.

The rays of the evening sun streamed into the modest house whilst the sweet smell of dinner began to drift about the village. Following the beginning of the dreadful days beyond his own world, Serge had nearly forgotten what dinner at home tasted like. At a moment as tensed as this, his tummy rumbled. Yet, the basic needs for his body were no more important than the needs for his mind. If only food could satiate his hunger for the truth.

"I shall prepare dinner," said Marge. "Radius, make yourself at home. We can discuss this over meal."

"I appreciate your invitation, Marge," said Radius. "But I'm afraid I have to turn it down. I'll just finish what I mean to say. It has been three years since the dragoons in our world went missing," he said wistfully. "For those three years I have conducted my own investigations but all I have unearthed is that Lynx approached the dragoons some three years ago. How much can I do now that Porre holds sway in El Nido in this world? If anything, Lynx must have been key. Would you mind if an old man went with you? Perhaps together we can still do something to help the general and Lady Riddel in the other. Perhaps with your Porre uniform we can discover what really happened with the dragoons here."

"I mind that you do," said Harle curtly. "The geezer's obviously using you!"

"I take that as a 'no' from you, Serge?" asked Radius.

"No, of course not!" said Serge quickly. "You are more than welcome! But--"

Radius raised a hand. "I understand. Yes, it's a detour. But an old man who will not see many more years is now begging you for a favor."

"Beggars cannot be choosers," quipped Harle. "You go where we choose to go."

"Harle!" said Serge. "Say nothing ill, Chief. We need all the help we can get."

"That settles it then. We leave for Termina at dawn tomorrow. We shall meet up at the village entrance."

"But that old geezer will only get in our way!" Harle protested.

Radius snorted and squinted at Harle, and while he fixed his gaze on her, he said to Serge, "Once more I urge you to reconsider. The imp's presence might one day prove to be your downfall."

"Coming from one who returns with his friend dead," said Harle with a conceited smile, "whose presence will, I wonder?"

The sun would not have burned redder than her words on Radius' face. Rude was the look he wore and ruder the shock he surely must have felt. Serge could do nothing as Radius walked out of his house without a word more.

x

x

x

While Marge prepared dinner, Serge spent alone a quiet moment in his room lit only by the pale of moonlight. He sat before a tabletop mirror and within the looking glass he saw for the first time what he really was--his soul encaged within the body of Lynx, a body tall and fearsome. But it was the body of another; the flesh and blood given to him by his parents had been stripped bare from him without due consent. And this hideous husk carries with it the smeared name now invariably associated with enmity. For its previous owner had used its two hands to undertake terrible deeds and stain themselves with the enduring scars of evil. Now, it would take toil to cleanse a blemished past.

Outside his window, the twin waning moons together had risen tall amongst the shimmering stars, proud even before a clouded sky. The central continent fell soon into the calm of the night, and life about Arni settled for the day. With a mild smile, Serge left the unsightly shell wandering behind in the world of silver, wherein the converse of reality was surely false imagery. No doubt, he thought to himself, that it had all been made easier by the people who believed in him. Having shed the negative reflections, he walked to his wardrobe, gathered and packed a set of casual wear fit for a seventeen-year-old.

He left his hut and strode to Radius'. On his way there he saw standing at the pier a thin silhouette of Radius. Dark against the sky, the figure looked deep in thought and from it there came a feeling of sadness carried on the hollow silence. The winds seemed to moan with a hymn of sorrow drawn from memories too old and painful to recollect. Serge paused in his steps and mulled over the possibility of approaching the pier, but at last he thought it prudent to leave his chief and his thoughts to himself. So he walked into the house of the chief and approached the Statue of Fate, where it stood in a corner of the modest interior. There, he knelt and rested a hand on the welcoming hand of the Goddess, as earnestly as he did his heart in Her. Just as he shut his eyes and was about to speak in mind to the statue, he heard the voice of Harle.

"Do you really believe in the Goddess of Fate?" she said, thick with an accent.

Serge opened his eyes, stood from his knees and surprised that even she had come.

"It's my faith. I pray for my father's return. Don't you pray?"

"Faith? Pray? Those two seem like fire and water. Hardly they come together, don't they? If you faith, why pray? If you pray, you obviously have no faith. I don't pray because I have faith to make things happen."

"Including those that are impossible?"

"You just answered your own question, Monsieur Lynx. How can the impossible happen? I know what can be achieved and I strive to achieve it."

"Easier said," said Serge. "Do you believe you have so much control over life?"

"Ooh-la-la!" She hopped back, as if in fear of him. Rather, she wore a smile on her face. "Ask yourself first: does the Goddess of Fate ever give you the control you wanted? Have you ever prayed but never seen it answered? And after knowing that answer, still you would leave your life in the hands of the Goddess of Fate?"

Serge fell silent.

"Ah!" she said. "The disappointment that comes with it. All made up by your perception, by your hope, and by your own mind. First, you pray and you wait passively for it to happen, which never does. Then, when it comes to looking for someone to shoulder the blame of failure, you see only that divine figure that is always perfect, always so pure. It is so hopelessly inculcated into you that you do not blame the Goddess but instead resign yourself to what you call _fate_. For what? You've been by Kid's side for long. I'm a little surprised you learnt nothing!"

"You make it sound sinful. Is it wrong in hoping? Doesn't it give us the strength?"

"To do what?"

"To live. To move on."

Harle slouched. "What do you see, I ask you?" she asked as she pointed to the bronze glimmering in the yellow of candlelight.

"I see the Goddess of Fate," replied Serge.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," she wagged her finger. "I see a statue." Then, she lifted the statue of bronze make and with ounces of enthusiasm examined the every inch of it. And with a wistful tone, she ended, "A statue that is less of everything. Powerless. Lifeless. Useless."

Her lack of respect handling it came to Serge as a surprise, and even as an insult on his belief. So, Serge snatched it from her and carefully he returned it to its rightful place.

"Please show the Goddess some respect," he said sternly.

Harle raised her eyebrows and smirked, and little one could tell if she was offended. Then, she turned and hopped to the door. "What must I say to make you understand? Faith in yourself gives you control of your life. But faith in a statue binds you to it. Then again, it's not a deal so great, not at all worth fighting over it. You are the ones who choose to be shackled.

"Come on! It's dinner time!"

x

x

x

When dinner ended and Serge retreated into solace at Arni's pier, Radius had already retreated. There, instead, the silver and the red moons were served on the wavy platters of the sea. When calm was in order the night sky was a communal gathering of celestial phenomena, a simple, poetic beauty that would touch a sensible heart. This night, however, troubling clouds brewing from the northern skies had spread across the heavens and left the glitters of the many worlds above shrouded behind uncertainty. And in this first night of his, Serge mulled over the fragility of a society--group of individuals--each of whom chose to depend on and accept another to live and to progress. He had never learnt to appreciate acceptance, not even immediately after he stumbled into the other world. In all his honest opinions, he took this simple rule of society completely for granted. Only today he understood its true meaning.

Then again, his journey thus far had given new meanings to many things in his life--his past, his present, and his future.

The many hours slipped past like did the many thoughts in his mind, while he stood rooted to the wooden pier. A chill wind swept across the plains of the central continent. It lifted his heavy cape and grimly reminded him of the weight he had on his shoulders. It tickled the fur in his cheeks though he did not seek to relieve that discomfort.

"Serge?"

Marge's voice started Serge and tore him from his thoughts.

Serge turned and saw his mother walking towards him.

"Mom? Still awake?"

She smiled uneasily as she took her place beside him. She spoke no words, but in her silence he could sense sadness.

"What's wrong?"

She hesitated for a moment. Then, after a long breath, she spoke. "I dreamt about your father, Serge. I woke and thought I'd spend a quiet moment here. When I saw you, I thought... But how silly can I get? He's gone for fourteen years."

"Mom..."

"Not even the passing of time can change that. But sometimes I wish that burden would leave, and then we can start afresh."

Serge laid a hand each over her shoulders and held her close to him.

"If Dad does return, will you be mad?"

"I have every right to!" she said resolutely. Then, with a softer, shakier voice, she admitted, "But I don't suppose I will. He might have suffered more than we did. But I'm glad I still have you. What will happen if you left me too?"

Serge did not try to answer, "It was all my fault. If only I had listened and stayed home. Then, maybe I wouldn't have been bitten by the panther. Dad needn't have risked his life in the storm to save me. And so many other things, so many possibilities that had followed would have happened so differently. And more importantly, Dad will still be around with us. If only I had one more chance fourteen years ago..."

_What if._ The eternal question of all who sought a second chance, so that the irreversible may be undone and that life and death became a result of choice and not of chance. It was such a tempting hope that kept the question burning; that kept the dreamers dreaming. Yet, there in that wishful thinking lay hidden the fundamental question unanswered: who would know if that new world of possibilities be better than the original? In accordance with the natural balance of the world, when one takes some, one must lose some. How would anyone know if what he took outweighed what he lost?

"It was not your fault! How could you have known? Even if you did not leave home that day, there's no telling if your father... Serge, you should understand everything is preordained."

"I know," was what he said, though he knew it was not what he felt. If he had just once wish at any power that could grant, still he would wish for the past to change, for his father to return and let chance decide the world of possibilities and what he would lose thereafter. But even that surely must remain a dream of all the dreamers of the world, a dream that could never be realized by any of them. At this, Serge exhaled like a soft sigh, and his mother wrapped in her hands his own.

The winds grew strong and his cape began to beat. The gentle hymns of the waves in turn began to ebb into dissonance. A storm seemed looming.

"You are worried. About that man and what he said?"

"You are, too, aren't you, mom?"

"Which parent wouldn't? But it doesn't mean you should sit around and wait for things to happen. The world is calling you. Even if you do not wish to face it, it will come right at you. Now is the time you have to believe in yourself. Just keep your head up and do your best."

"And I thought I was supposed to console you," Serge said with a smile.

"It's the best that I can do now. I may not look it, but I am old, Serge. If it were a few years back I might still venture with you to the other world, if you do not find that a chilling thought, that is."

"Of course it isn't!"

"Seriously? Then I might consider."

Serge pondered for a moment.

"I was pulling your leg," she chuckled. "But I hope you have closer friends to help you through. Radius is hardly wrong; you must be wary of Harle. You said it yourself, that she once worked for that Lynx beast. If I could choose who to go with you, it would be Leena. Don't blame her for what she did, Serge! She's still young. She doesn't understand the difference between the cover and the story within. She understands you the best unless, of course, you have someone I don't already know about..."

"This Leena's a friend."

"_This_ Leena?"

"I've met another Leena who looks the same as this one. But in terms of poise and character, she's different. Gentler. More sensible."

"Have you... fallen for her?"

"N-No! I have in mind someone else but she's from the other world."

Marge kept silent even though she seemed like she had something to say. Then, when she finally got to say it, it did not seem to Serge as if she had spoken her thoughts. "I hope she can take care of you, Serge. I hope you can bring her back someday so that we can all have dinner together."

"I will," he added quickly. "I will never leave you in this world alone!"

Marge fiddled with something at the back of her neck and soon she pulled from beneath her blouse a pendant that she had worn faithfully for as long as Serge knew. Under the pale moons there came a sparkle of light from its silver plating. It was of a design simple, the shape of a cross, its four spokes equal in length. It was of no price more than the least expensive of household items. But the heart and thought poured into the gift were far greater than the lack of them in gold treasures of the nobles. So priceless and dear it was that his mother had it rest on her breasts since it became hers. Yet, the long, dreadful years had not scarred its face or roughened its edges.

"It's your..." stammered Serge. His feline eyes began to mist.

"Yes, it's the pendant your father gave to me before we had you. Now, I want you to have it. I hope it gives you the support in the times when you need it most."

She placed the pendant in Serge's paw and tightly she shut it. The warmth in his hand instantly thawed his heart.

"But you just said everything was preordained," he said with a voice getting hoarse, for a lump had gathered in his throat.

"It is; you will achieve your goal. But this... This will make your path there easier," she said with a smile.

Gratefully, Serge hung the pendant over his neck and tucked it under his uniform. So mother and son stood at the bridge quietly looking out into the seas, like they had once done everyday in vigil for his father's return. After fourteen painful years, they arrived here hand-in-hand, after a long arduous fight. But before him now was the battle of his life that he had to undertake. With her distant support he would forge ahead, so that at the end of it, the riddles of his past would be unveiled, and the path to his future would lay unblemished.

The winds slowly began to die as the heavy clouds rolled hastily southwards. Whilst rain fell from the faraway skies, soft of light flashed within that mist and haze, until in the early hours of the day the mass of it all fell off the rim of the world. A breeze of sweet scent drifted from the seas to Serge, and with it carried forlorn memories fresh as glittering dew on leaves. Night began to fade away and trees and life began to wake from deep dreams. A new dawn had come with the rising of the red sun.


	22. Book 3 Chapter 3 Forging Companionship

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**Book 3**

**3 Forging Companionship**

Here she was once more, between one world and the next. Here she was as a lone soul imprisoned within a space of black whose ends seemed neither too far to reach, nor too near to touch. All around it seemed like a lifeless dream set in darkness, a dream doubtful to the senses and not at all real. Yet, it must exist, for in her clarity of mind the awareness of her presence here suggested so. For as long as she had lived, this was but a shapeless world that could not be outlined by boundaries and anything tangible, for it had within none of them; a changeless world hopelessly stranded across the vast, hollow rifts of time, and long were forgotten and forsaken.

Before her eyes even saw the first of lights, before her feet even walked on solid footing, it had been in this dark, lifeless void where she woke. Here she could find all of nothing, and none of the day, of the trees, of the winds, cold or warmth, but the solitude within an indefinite space. The magical colors of the world that defined her and the memories of her life would find no room for existence here. It had not been her strength in the knowledge of time, but it had been made known to her that here, those with the heart would look beyond the black walls and recall the memories of old, and the foresights of the coming. With a heart as heavy as hers, she saw only the world of the blind. And even it had been years since her first awareness, Harle had never gotten accustomed to such a place and she had never gotten comfortable.

The Void of Light, she now called it, as appropriately as she could ironically. A void not filled of light, but plainly devoid of it. What reason it had been for such a name, she had long forgotten. But as with everything anonymous she had stumbled upon, it had been a meaningful pastime for her to give it a name. There could be no easier way to cast aside the feeling of awfulness crawling behind her mind than injection of irony and humor.

"Things are as we have planned," said a voice that spoke to her.

"It does seem so, doesn't it?" replied Harle, standing on her toes. "It is a risk we took, but the Sacrament was necessary. I suppose he has now discovered the truth?"

"Like her, he was once clueless. For Prometheus has guarded its secrets well. But too late it is now for him to know. It was of his own choice that he has given his strength away. Retribution can now be swift, and evil subdued. I see that the end is near. What do you read of the moons?"

"That... the end is near?" said Harle as a matter of fact. "I thought that it is obvious enough without the moons. Are you now so corrupted beyond reasoning you can't tell? Shall I do as we have agreed and kill us all and end this right now?"

"We are still of sound mind, but you seem otherwise. What is it exactly?"

"What is what?" she snapped.

"I sense that you do not want this to end. Rather you would let rain of fires descend upon our planet and thereafter cloud our world in darkness?"

Harle raised her brows in doubt. "I would rather not, silly! But why do you all care, I wonder? All that you care about is a way out of that shell and when you would return home. And... cut the ancient talk."

"Our partial mind has not robbed us of our reasoning," the voice explained. "For as long as we have the last bits of consciousness to resist, we shall. The Planet belongs to us, wherever it is. And--"

"And in time to come, you will eradicate the Planet of its evil living within. It's been fourteen years. Tell me something new?"

"We will also eradicate the mutants living on it."

"Your choice of words still annoys me."

"We speak as precisely as we require. However, if you insist we could call also them vile offspring. That is as fitting a name as any other."

Harle gaped. A certain hurt pricked her heart. "Thank you for your understanding every time!" she protested.

"And every time we remind you of your roots, of where you came from."

"And every time you remind me why I look exactly like them--a mutant bastard."

"Your sarcasm is uncalled for. Have you been around him too long and grown so unnecessarily attached to evil? Forever we have been warning you against it, and today we discover you have heeded nothing. Perhaps you have found us too accommodating and now need a little _motivation_ to guide your decision?"

Harle drew a breath and regarded the threat lightly. "You still need me. Take heart in knowing that my decision will never change."

"For your sake, I hope so."

x

x

x

Harle woke up in Serge's room on his bed, on which he had insisted she slept last evening. The bed was pleasant, and was by any comparison superior to any other she had spent a night of slumber on. The soft pillow was to her a harbor for her mind, a rest in between the long voyages it still must travel. The soft sheets of the bed, along with the cool of weather in this world, were as the gentle embrace of the waves wrapped around this little child within. And in the still night of Arni, the sounds from the ocean were soft chants of lullabies that ferried her to lands of dreams. Undoubtedly, it being his bed mattered.

Weakened and reluctant to wake, she decided to curl up on her side, cuddle closely to her chest his soft pillow and relish the precious moment that slowly was flowing by. There, lying down, she watched Serge peacefully sleep on the floor over an old mattress. She noticed how his feline brows did not furrow during his sleep, how his cheeks were not always tensed. She noticed that even in his posture he was not nearly as stiff as the real Lynx was. It was clear to her that Serge was inside at peace with himself, whilst the world around him remained stormy and unpredictable. It was such calmness he exuded that made her enjoy watching him and wonder what it would feel like to be in his shoes. Of such elevated state of the mind she was envious, for she knew that never in her life she would attain it.

At length, without much effort she got up from his bed, reached for Serge's blanket on the floor and carefully pulled it over him. He fidgeted but did not yet wake. Still, no moment's worth of hesitation would come between his forehead and her lips to it. And thus she did, gently, lay her lips on it for as long as she would like. When her lids closed upon themselves, she found herself drawn behind a curtain and living a world of dreams. Sweet as the scent of the morning rose, or the taste of warm honey they were, but in them she understood the bitter reality that fortune as such would fall upon anyone, anyone else but her.

Ever since she grew of age, all she had known and had learnt of was Serge's name and the webs of the world woven around it. She had not seen him since ten years after his death in the other world, yet all that she had done in that world was for him. Such had been her purpose and till today it remained so.

When she opened her eyes and plucked her lips from his forehead, she saw that Serge had woken. She smiled when their eyes met, when in that moment she felt a slight rush of fire up her neck. But sooner than she would feel ashamed for stealing the kiss without consent, Serge's gaze began to flit about nervously. He did not try to retreat or struggle. But she would not wish to further embarrass him, so she stood, spread her arms and greeted him with her best of smiles.

"Good afternoon, Monsieur Lynx!"

He sat up and made a clear effort to avoid her gaze. "G-Good afternoon," he said softly.

"Lunch?" she said delightfully.

"Sure."

And so Harle left Serge in his room to ready himself, while she joined Marge in the kitchen.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Marge," greeted Harle.

"Oh! Good afternoon. You're just in time."

"Ooh! For another great feast! Already I can smell it from Serge's room."

"Nothing spectacular, really. But I would be happy to know that you enjoy it."

"I'm sure I will! And all the hospitality you've shown. I cannot be more grateful."

Here, Marge was about to lay the last dish on the table, when she stopped and looked at Harle in the eye.

"Harle, I don't know where you come from." Her tone had changed. "And I don't know what you've done to make Serge stake his trust in you. However much I desire to find out, I don't suppose you mean to tell me if I asked. Either way, it seems to me that Serge needs you by his side. Can I be assured of his well-being and that he will return safe?"

And in reply, Harle said, "I live for him. Even if I don't return home, I'll make sure he will."

A smile came to Marge's lips, and she laid the final dish of delicious-smelling boiled potatoes on the table top.

The two ladies then sat at the dining table and upon initiation from Harle they both began an uneasy conversation about the food and their preparations. So this was Mrs. Marge, she thought as the dialogue went on and on, until one topic led to another and then to more. From the latest gossips at home and in Termina, to the current affairs far beyond the borders of El Nido they talked. Accompanied by the laughter of the village children, the mood to Harle could not have been merrier. Slowly the troubled tension between them both began to settle, though the wariness and caution, Harle could tell, still ran cold and chillingly in Marge's veins beneath her skin.

When Serge at last joined them, Marge urged the diners to begin feasting. Harle did as she was told and into the potatoes, stewed meat, omelets, beans and corns she dug. Like the dinner of last evening, lunch was a delight with each bite an experience unmarred even by the simple ambience of Arni. Though she knew little of the art of cooking, the effort poured into the tantalizing tastes and tender bites was apparent, and the result, a clear indication of that from a masterful chef. Then again, that being Mrs. Marge mattered.

Lunch was over too soon for Harle. All things must come to an end, and the good ones in particular ended with a bittersweet after-taste, and set her mind desiring for more. In deliberate steps, she walked towards the door as she walked out of a feast. As much as possible she soaked herself in the tenderness filled up within its walls, and relished the fragrant of wood of the modest house like sweet dessert after the feast. But that too came to an end and at the doorstep she must now wipe as custom and courtesy her lips of the senses, and etch only in the canvases of her memory some taste of her experience.

"Thank you, Mrs. Serge!" she said earnestly to Marge, who saw them out.

"You have thanked me enough, Harle."

Tears came to Harle's eyes, though she permitted none to see them.

x

x

x

Radius spent the morning at the pier of Arni, staring far into the horizon but behind his eyes there strayed the thoughts of yesteryears and mixed emotions. Long had he rendered his services to the Dragoons, and ever to them he was loyal. When he retired from the Dragoons four years ago, he left with an empty husk, for his soul he had devoted to the army, and took none when he left. Yet he would have chosen to die with them, if his past had not been so dark and treacherous.

Three years before, the Dragoons had emptied its headquarters for an undisclosed expedition. Few had seen the ships that took them away, and fewer was the word of farewell was whispered even to kin and kith at home. A week later, the disappearance had become knowledge. When two long weeks had passed, knowledge became omen. Wait was such torment until one by one, the people surrendered to the fact that their rulers were never to return. Families were devastated and smiles crumbled. A throne was left untaken, and a manor cold in the blue of nights. Void of rule and governance, the mourning town stirred with unease. And wind soon bore to the ears of the people ill rumor of a power in the East that would set foot on their shore. More weeks passed. Rumor grew in strength and word from abroad had brought tales of hardship and terror.

"We shall crush the invaders. For this is our land, and none shall steal it!" sang the leaders who crowned themselves above all. Mobs formed and in name they claimed to defend the people, but in reality, they sought power of them. No great army was formed but fragmented factions that began to threaten to tear apart social order.

At last, the army of the East, Porre, who fifteen years ago crushed the Guardia Kingdom, then sailed into the seas of El Nido and seized its lands unchallenged. The frail mobs were efficiently weeded and mercilessly executed before the eyes of the people. The Blue Army put in place tough regimental laws, and each came encased in the silver bullet. Authorities granted soldiers the power of judgment, and in the pull of a trigger could sentence one to death. Voices against the army were considered treason and earned easily a rifle to the head, and in so doing the Blue Army forced the people in submission. Then, greed drove the rulers to implement heavy taxes so that they earned into their hands what the people worked hard for. Black days veiled the white town when famine hit and beggars roamed. And ever its people waited for such a day of liberation.

Thus, grew in the hearts of the people the intent to revolt and in secret the strong mustered a band of resistance. And a plan was so hatched to overthrow the rule of their dictators. It came at last some half a year into occupation on a dark night of the new moon. In one great coordinated effort, the resistance seized major posts of the Blue Army in Termina, and used their own pyrotechnics against them. Rifles cracked in the silent of night and fires raged in the streets. A stolen bomb took down the Viper Manor in which Porre resided, and its collapse killed the general and much of his aides. Just two days the siege went and only at night did the fights become intense. The tides favored the resistance and surprise was their strength. But victory was won at a hefty price: the lives of their leaders and the blood of innocents and otherwise.

The town emerged on the third day burnt and torn. Yet word had somehow left the borders of El Nido and reached the mainland. Porre it seemed was bent on sending another host to ensue its rule. But battered and too tired the people were to fight. The twentieth day following the insurgence saw the arrival of a fleet of ships from the East and the Blue Army again marched into the broken town. At its helm a young gentleman took the lead and these first words he said to the people, "I did not come to mend you hearts. But I can mend wrong to right."

This commander saw indeed that order was restored and the town rebuilt. He judged and punished fairly, even if many saw punishments emerging signs of dictatorship, and so triggered memories of the dark days. He returned to people their jobs and paid justly for their effort. But for all that he had done, the manor he left untouched and chose instead to command from its dungeons. A year into his guidance, or so he would call, the people lived reasonably, but warily. Still currents beneath the surface stirred. For the Blue Army had carved on the lives of the people an indelible scar and never a wound as such would heal.

Today Radius would meet the commander of the Blur Army, and already in the fields of his mind he saw their encounter and which direction it would head from there. He knew also that this would stir at the bottom of the teacup and many memories settled within would once again surface. So with a heart sincere he prayed to the sea that he would not crumble, and a cool wind came then blowing into his face from over the ocean blue.

x

x

x

Radius led the companions of three out of the village of Arni and followed the trail towards Cape Howl. A gentle wind drifted from the east and against the cape it broke; the remaining breeze of it rolled over the land and set flora gently swaying in its wake. Overhead a flock of gulls soared, and took with them into the skies an ode to the morning sun. But it now shied behind great blooming clouds and only through a rift of them it glowed. And soon it faltered behind wisps spread across the skies. The grass that straddled the trail soon dwindled and when the path opened, they turned north towards Fossil Valley.

At length, they came to the great crack, a steep ravine that divided the mount of volcanic rocks. Bounded by the dull gray on either side, the path through the Valley brought the travelers through gloom and darkness. Here and there from fissures in the ground rose hot steam and so shrouded the valley thin with mist. The air was moist and stifling, as would a day baking in heat. Above them the day peeked through the narrow peak, and behind the mist looked like lightning that split asunder a stormy sky. Yet, as they approached the exit the blue skies opened as would when night turns into day.

Brown sand laid before them a path between the greens, long and rich. Not a mile later, sand gave way to stones and over them tired feet trod. The sun peaked but still the clouds persisted. And the breezes had died, so that the land now felt warm. They walked up a slope and where it crested the land fell away hastily, and they now saw a wide plain against the white shores. A cluster of dark rainforest trees had amassed in the west, and there stood the Shadow Forest. Near the forest a ruin of Viper Manor lay crumbled. To their east lay sprawled by the coast a white town and its magnificent harbors, where now a huge ship sat docked. From all around came in light shudders of unrest, and the three companions were silent until a stone's throw away they were from Termina.

Here and now, on the week of Viper's Festival, no music played and no flowers adorned the white walls. Only the stench of rifle oil reeked and a solemn mood that greeted the three companions as they approached the gates. Above the gates, the flag of Porre danced gracefully, upon which Radius looked in disdain. Two guards dressed in blue stood restlessly at each end of the gate and both cast a glance at Serge when he neared. Doubt shrouded their eyes and hesitantly, they stiffened and saluted Serge.

"S-Sir Lynx!" they stammered.

Serge did not return the salute until he received a nudge from Harle.

"G-Good afternoon!" said Serge. "You may stand at ease."

The guards lowered their salute slowly and then shifted uneasily.

"I can't believe you are back in Termina!" said one of them suddenly. He tried to put on a smile, "I-It has been three years since you left, has it not?"

"Three years," Serge cleared it throat. "We've been gone that long? It seems like only a week. But much has changed since then. And it seems to me Porre has given Termina facelifts in more ways than one. I do not suppose the people are pleased."

"Never have I seen the likes of my commander in the mainland, who treats his people equal as he is. Alas, they are never pleased! And they probably won't be too happy to learn that you have returned. For from their lips I was told that it was you who led the dragoons out on the ill-fated expedition."

Radius raised a brow in expectation, and he hoped more than a drop of information would come from this soldier.

"Lynx led them? What else do you know?" Radius asked.

The soldier went pale and his eyes went flitting back and forth Lynx and Radius. "T-That much I hear from my s-superior and the townsfolk, Sir, Sir! Know nothing more than I need to know. And rumors they must be, like all others!"

"Loosen up," said Serge. "What rumors are you talking about?"

"Rumors? About many things, Sir, most are baseless anyway. You have rumors of you having died and never would again return; an uprising from Guldove; boats getting stolen; the Zelbess cruise ship launching an attack and Sir Dario coming back from the dead--"

"Dario?" said Radius. "Coming back from the dead?"

"As much rumors as they are, like that of Sir Lynx's death. The situation is tense from ground to top, you see. Says Dario did not leave with the dragoons on the expedition. Says he died on the Isle of the Damned, but no body ever was found. Says when he wakes he will summon forth an army to quash our presence. Says many things ill to our spirits, and so in hope smother our will to fight," and then with an angry tone he hissed, "Something like the resistance will do."

"The resistance?" asked Serge. "Has it not been subdued?"

"You reckon?"

Then, from the gates then came walking out a merchant and an assistant, and with much strength they pushed their cart of wares. When their gazes fell on Serge, up came a finger, as if words from Serge were wind that fanned the flames and fire was now ablaze. The merchant came up to Serge and crudely he swore, "Lynx! How dare you have the nerves to return to this town! Get out of here!"

The soldiers loaded their rifles and pointed their tips at the merchant. Serge pressed the weapons down whilst the soldiers struggled to exercise their right to judge.

"Show a little restrain, please," said Serge, as he raised his hand as his order to cease. "This man means no harm."

"But Sir!" the soldier protested.

The merchant remained ungrateful and his eyes piercing. He growled, "I fear not you or your toys. Shoot me for all I care, but you'll never earn my respect, not when you and your devilry drove the general out of the manor."

"I drove them out?" said Serge.

A great flame leapt from the merchant's eyes, and the afternoon sun seemed suddenly too hot to be under. A rude bellow thundered from the tense merchant and his arm flew up, but was quickly held back by his assistant, who whispered seriously into his ear. Following a while of struggles, his temper was quelled. Then, with a finger pointing, the merchant spat into Serge's face.

"You'll be damned, Lynx," he said. "Mark my words."

The merchant hauled his assistant away and left reluctantly. Whilst he dragged his cart on the southern road towards Arni, he cursed again and again, until the toil up the slope silenced him. When, at last, the merchant vanished from sight, Radius spoke.

"Looks like you're an unwanted guest here as well," said Radius, stroking his beard.

"To think these very people once bowed their heads before you," added Harle. "Now they are as anxious to lay blame."

"Pardon my insolence, Sir," said the guard and then he summarized, "but letting him off the hook is just as well as putting your life on the table, if you know what I mean."

"I understand," said Serge. "But I came here seeking your commander, not trouble. Would you tell me where he is?"

"I most certainly will, Sir Lynx. You can find him at the Manor where he now commands, in the prisons, where all still is intact. And it seems like those rumors about you are false, too. You are not so terrible a person to engage in a chat with, I reckon."

And so the three companions left the gates of Termina and turned west towards the Manor. Under the warm afternoon sun they walked on a familiar stone road wide first built a century ago by men of skilled trade. In times of peace, Radius had once supervised the repair work on this road. For barrows and carts and weather that battered them for over half a century crushed their stonework.

This road brought them across a field of green of leaves and shrubs and the occasional tree. And the road brought them elevated upon a low mount. To their south the Fossil Valley spanned the island until into a range it swelled, so that it encircled the crater that hugged Fort Dragonia. In the clouds its tower hung, wherein lie the ritual chamber.

They came soon to Viper Manor, and there stood a ruin crumbled of walls and of pride, so that in Radius heart came a throbbing ache. He laid his gaze upon the ruin home once to him, home now to moss and green fern. He stopped and tears of memories long held back now welled up in his eyes, and from where came a flicker of light. Harle, however, quickly became restless and about she went hopping, so that Radius became upset and his brows furrowed with displeasure. He cleared his throat noisily. But he drew deep breaths and not a moment later, with a low, calm voice, he spoke.

"Time sure does fly! And it's been four long years now since I retired from the Dragoons. I was shocked to hear of Dario's death three years ago. And now, the general and the others are missing, and the manor in shambles. I've always wondered if I would suffer a fate the same as the General's, had I chosen not to leave.

"I took the liberty of conducting my own investigation. But out of it I have yielded nothing. All I know is that Lynx approached the general and has involved him in the expedition."

Radius regarded Harle suspiciously.

"I know nothing!" said Harle. "I was not involved with the plan. I do not find it amusing!"

And to that, Radius grunted. "I'm sure _he_ would know something."

A soldier of the Blue Army stood at attention near a battered well until on them he set his eyes. As he approached he raised his hand to his head in salute and with much respect he greeted, "Good afternoon, Sir! Our commander is not expecting any visitors this afternoon, if you are here for him."

"No," said Serge. "But we seek his counsel on matters of grave importance. Send to him word that Lynx is here."

For some reason, that lightened Radius's mind, and under the despair of painful memories he managed a contained smile. He would not expect to hear the use of the words "seek his counsel," not from the real Lynx in earnest at least.

"L-Lynx? Y-Yes, Sir! You can reach him from that well. N-Not exactly a pleasant welcome and I'd have to trouble you to climb the rope, but... Let me first inform him of your presence. Y-You may follow after me!"

Color had fled and left behind cheeks pale as the skies on a day of rain. Like many others, his eyes could not bear even a glimpse at Serge's, and they too flew like deer from leopard. Then, he scuttled to the well and hastily down the rope he slid.

"Who should I take pity on?" Radius mused. "Those who live here, or those who did? Or those who ask such a question?" There was no reply he would wait and before Serge and Harle he went forward. And there came resonating from Radius' footsteps a sense of troubled frustration.

x

x

x

Gone are the days when the words spoken through the lips of a man are golden. Today the words of a man will weigh no more than a quill, with which a signature must be forged before a promise sealed. And by this seal of affirmation honor was cast on paper yet cast as hard as solid stone. But as he counted the tall stacks of paper placed before him, he wondered how many of them were as worthless as gravel of a crumbling tomb, how many more were seals of their own fates. Certainly such institution favored those who were keen to seek cover from responsibility. And it was of no coincidence or irony that the top brass in the military talked more than they did write, and made others write more than they should talk. Yet here he was, he acknowledged grimly, shouldering the weight and the paperwork of the overpaid, bloated superiors above him.

These were the recurring laments of a tired man who sat perched on his wooden chair, buried deep in mind in the piles of paperwork scattered across his desk. Near the edge of the desk a steady oil lamp sat and upon the walls of red brick it cast a glow as hot as it was irritable. The lamp was about to fall over when the man reached out and set it where it would be safe. Drawn away from the mundane his work, he gazed into the flame and from it lit the glitters of gold in his gentle eyes of brown. As a reward to his diligence for the first half of the day, he allowed himself a lazy diversion and then, he was quickly lost deep in thought. As he stared into the flame, his mind drifted on the musings of much: most of all, how much longer it would be before he was deemed unnecessary. When it seemed to him that his eyes began to ache from the brilliance of the flame, he rubbed his eyes and returned his attention to work.

Not a moment later his subordinate came knocking on the door and then entered.

"Commander Norris!" he said without his salute. "S-Sir Lynx!"

"Sir Lynx?" said Norris, commander of the Porre regime in El Nido. "What about him?"

"He's alive! He's back!"

"Calm down, soldier. You said he lives? Where's he?"

As the anxious soldier pointed to the dungeon passageway, three figures appeared from the dimness and into his room they walked. One of them he had not before seen: a young lady of queer and colorful wear, so that she seemed to his eyes a performer from some strange land. And one other man Norris knew; for he was slim in frame and but staunch in stature.

"If it is not Sir Radius," Norris stood and said respectfully. "Long have I held you in honor. But little did I expect your sudden return to the manor."

The build of Lynx Norris could not forget since Norris first saw him parade along the golden city halls of Porre. His eyes were then deep as night and cold as glass and held fast in them a boding of death and destruction. In his speeches to rally the populace he had seemed to summon the elements and weather to his bidding. But his power lied in his uncanny ability to mesmerize the people, as if beyond their free choice he could control their minds and speak into them his own will. Norris remembered only a swiveling sensation in his mind, and scarcely could recall the matter of Lynx's speech. But the outcome he was clear: Lynx had held in sway the world under his feet.

"Sir Lynx?" said Norris doubtfully. "You seem different than I last remember."

Radius laughed. "I'm impressed, commander. Even I could tell little of difference between this Lynx and the other. It is said on the mainland that where Porre sets its feet on, the land shall be stained with the blood from its hands. Yet, El Nido has remained as peaceful as it had been before Porre's arrival. Much of that credit must go to you, Sir Norris, and for that you have my greatest respect. Sir Lynx and I, and this little clown here, are on a journey, and we think you have some information that we might need. That is why we have come to you, and we would appreciate if you could be of some assistance. Our situation is a little convoluted and may not warrant that much of an explanation. But if you wish--"

"Apologies for my interruption, Sir Radius, but you must know that I'm terribly busy. I have no wish to offend you lady and gentlemen, but I'm afraid that I can ill afford precious time to be your guide. If there are any questions that you might have, please feel free to approach my second in-charge."

"Our journey brings us to the Frozen Flame."

Silence fell and in his heart Norris began to understand the goal of this visit. An interest for their mission was then aroused, for he had long wished to seek the dreams of Porre and with his very hand end it. Then, he urged his subordinate, "Lester, you may leave us and all that you've heard within these walls."

"Yes Sir!" Lester saluted and left and thereafter closed the door behind him.

"You now have my attention," said Norris to Lynx and Radius.

"Excellent," said Radius. "This man you see here is that of Lynx, but his soul is of another. He is a bright, young boy by the name of Serge who also lives in Arni. Something that has happened between him and Lynx that made them switch places."

"That is... quite strange if I may say so."

"Stranger if you hear that this Lynx is from a totally different world, yet similar to this world. Parallel uni-something."

"A parallel universe? A world that is similar but is another existence altogether?"

Serge appeared puzzled.

"Have you been to the other world?" Serge quizzed.

"Well, no, pardon me. But I have read theories and ideas that many worlds exist all at once. Thoughts conjured by the most intelligent people on the planet. And now you're telling me that your body comes from this other world, which I presume you have already visited and experienced?"

"Yes," Serge. "And this Lynx in the other world is after the Frozen Flame and he seems certain enough of its location."

"Which is?" asked Norris.

"Well, he says it lies asleep--" Serge

"I think we've shared enough of our story, Sir Norris. What of yours?" Radius said reservedly.

"Sir Radius, having served the dragoons, I am certain that you would understand it is no trivial matter for me to reveal information that belongs to the military. I function as a soldier and there are rules that I must follow. Tell me why I should place my trust in you, and if it is reason enough, you shall have it."

Radius looked to Serge and for a while he pondered and scratched his head. And when something seemed to have occurred to him, he reached hastily for his pocket and removed from it a pouch of soft velvet.

"This belongs to a close friend of mine," said Serge, "who also comes from the other world. It is with this that I can cross the borders of both worlds from one to the other. She calls it an Astral Amulet. It may feel a little warm and it will always be, day or night."

"May I have a look at its contents?"

Serge nodded and handed over the Astral Amulet.

"It feels strangely warm. It may not be a technical impossibility to build such a device. Only the military I believe now possesses the capability to create something like that. But even with the technology of our military, the idea of building something of a size this small seems a little stretched. What leaves me baffled is not the amulet, but the design of the crest on the pouch. It is of an ancient origin. I do not suppose you are aware of it?"

Serge raised both brows and regarded Norris with a puzzled look.

"The history of our kind has always fascinated me," explained Norris. "I have come across materials and I understand that this crest has been said to be the crest of a legendary kingdom Zeal, known to have existed some twelve thousand years ago. While its existence has been dispelled as a myth on the mainland, the old sea of many secrets has once or twice revealed to us a little from our past. And from the sea, this design of this crest has drifted its way into the hands of Porre's researchers."

"I've heard of Zeal from this same friend of mine," said Serge. "She said that Zeal was once a mighty kingdom that built its civilization in the air during the Ice Ages some twelve thousand years ago, by tapping into a source of power that came from this creature known as Lavos. A great misfortune befell, however, and the entire civilization of man was thrown back to earth."

Norris walked to shelf behind him. He drummed his fingers across a row of books until he found a research compilation given to him by a fellow colleague in the military.

"Here it says," and he pointed as he took the book and placed in open on his desk, "'The ancient kingdom of Zeal is believed to have at least designed a floating citadel, if it has not realized it in its entirety. It is not clear by what means they had intended to achieve such impossibility, or if they had achieved it at all. But there has been some evidence suggesting that Zeal was governed by a different race of men gifted with the prowess of magic, and perhaps even of flight. They call themselves (roughly translated into Common), "Those who have seen." It is believed that they harnessed such powers in their attempts to realize their dreams of living in the heavens.'"--Norris flipped to another page--"Here it is, the crest of Zeal."

"It's chillingly similar," said Radius. "But are you suggesting something? Can this not have been copied from the book?"

"It might be, but how I do not know. I haven't seen many of such designs on the streets. And this book is a highly classified publication of the Porre military. Only through connections with the research divisions I have managed to obtain it."

"This sounds like another thread to the already convoluted puzzle. And you say Porre is researching a legend? For what?" asked Radius.

"The same reason it is now looking for the Frozen Flame," said Norris factually.

"And what about it can you tell us?" asked Radius.

"It was actually Sir Lynx who approached us about the existence of the Frozen Flame in El Nido. Being from the main continent, we had doubted its very existence, so I was sent to El Nido Archipelago as a spy. I had myself enlisted as a support officer and but in that several months with the dragoons I have discovered little. Eventually, I was called back to Porre. Later, I heard General Viper and his men had disappeared and that the manor had been destroyed as such. I came back to El Nido to investigate. But only recently I understand that there is good evidence the general and his men headed to the Dead Sea. The Dead Sea, once called the Sea of Eden, is an ocean located to the east, surrounded by poisonous corals and great mountains. We investigated the area for an entrance, but have thus far found none. And their reason for their entry is still unknown."

"To search for the Frozen Flame, I'm sure," said Serge.

"Is that where Lynx in the other world says it lies asleep?" asked Norris.

"Yes," said Serge. "But in the other world, it still is the Sea of Eden. It has never been known as the Dead Sea. Has Lynx ever spoken of his intentions with the Flame?"

"Lynx spoke of bringing forth a new order in this corrupted world. He envisions a world of perfection, one removed of suffering, removed of conflict. It is you, Sir Lynx, who wished to change this distorted world using the Frozen Flame."

"Ooh-la-la!" sang Harle on her toes. "Such grand dreams, Monsieur Lynx!"

"Hold your tongue!" ordered Radius.

"Zut!"

"And how should I address you, Miss?" Norris asked.

"You can call me Harle!" she introduced herself with a graceful bow.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Harle," and Norris returned the bow.

"Ooh-la-la! The pleasure's all mine!" Harle said with a smile and her arms spread wide.

"So events in this world and the other are beginning to fall into place," said Radius. "Once we uncover Lynx's plans in this world, it should be easy enough to counter them in the other. In the end, it all leads us to the Dead Sea, does it not, Serge? The question is how we can get in."

"I have a request to ask of you," said Norris.

"You would like join us," said Radius, "would you not?"

Norris saw wary in Radius' eyes, as from one who played his cards, and guarded his secrets. For through the corners of them came a glance that stung his pride and honor, virtues of a man he felt in his world today were rare as gold. Steadfast he remained, in the face of remarks from his peers that he knows little of the rules of the world; that the best tell the truth not in whole but twisted and smeared even, so that there now exist shades of gray between black and white. Trust between two had long become a delusion, but sought still by those who remained hopeful. Thus, he believed still that words spoken through the lips are as gold indeed, yet priceless. That which came from his he must mean with no pretense.

"You have had me read well, but read wrongly, sir. To join you in your search is my intention, but to earn filthy credit from it is not."

"Then, what is? Why would you desert your men to join us? Why would you risk treason and the punishment by death? I put the question back to you: tell us why we should place our trust in you and give us a reason good enough to consider," Radius said with a challenging smile.

And thus Norris found himself once again on that side of the river, a hopeful seeking the trust of a strategist who had now turned the cards on him, and sought better for his side of the bargain. But alas, the deal could not be made here and now.

"That reason must not be spoken within these walls. If you will wait, my reason will not disappoint. In the meantime, you will have my boat docked in Termina, my badge of identity and my pistol."

"Serge, do you have any objections?" said Radius.

"No, chief. Welcome aboard, commander. I think you should keep with you your badge and pistol. We will need them sometime."

And Norris was grateful.

"Thank you, Serge! Then, you have my word of honor. We will leave tonight under the cover of darkness."


	23. Book 3 Chapter 4 The Native

**Chrono Cross Second Journey**

**Fan Novelization**

**Book 3**

**4 The Native**

It set in his heart a flame ablaze. And with zeal and zest like a young child Norris slipped into civilian attire and set his hair scruffy. The wheels in his mind had begun to turn when he realized beyond his dreams the Frozen Flame might exist, even following three years of search he found no secrets bared. The Astral Amulet had today touched him and suddenly he believed that there were more mysteries than this remote land was willing to unravel. Chains and gears he could easily fathom. Nothing more than the constructs of the human mind they were, molded and crafted into chisel and teeth that bit slowly out of the Earth all living force. But into the world of the unseen he yearned to tread. And he wondered what power the artifact of such queer a name contained and what drove its engines within, if there were any to speak of. More importantly, what chant or curse could drive men to such thirst that only this Flame could quench.

Nonetheless fate had dealt him an interesting opportunity his father was never fortunate enough to receive. Armed with this knowledge he could walk over and crush his foes. It gave him the pass to the higher ladders in the command chain, and a life that would have him living in great houses and owning grand ships. But at the expense of the world and the little village from which he came he would not. When put on the scale of his principles, the choice tipped to the right side. He remembered still how his father had taught him grow. "Don't do everything, son! Do the right thing!" he was wont to say. Though by that simple rule his father might have met his demise, Norris persisted till this day in that belief. Indeed set in his mind was a resolution that the flame be destroyed or be hoisted far from the stained hands of the Blue Army.

"Time will tell," he said to himself whilst he strapped on his holster.

And history would bear witness to the result of his choice.

The companions, now of four, slipped out of the manor in silence. The sun had just set and left behind a horizon smothering in dying amber. Clouds of wisp and purple stretch dragged across the twilit heavens above and beneath them a long eagle soared in flight. But a mass had gathered in the south from where a draft came relentlessly rushing.

Guided by the light of dusk, Norris led them on a path through woods towards the west. The ground was moist under a blanket of mist and often they found themselves wading through thick growth and dirty mud. A chill thus lingered in the woods and colder it seemed tonight now that the wind blew. Trees rustled and branches shook but fast and firm the trees all stood. But borne on the wind now and then was a foul stench, as of skunks known to roam and breed here. Then, when the last light of evening died, Norris set a flame to his lamp and the stench soon departed.

Whilst they forged through the solitary wood, Radius, Norris had observed, could help little but cast glances at the compound, now broken of structure and of spirit. So had gone golden days of the glory and the silver armor, and Sir Radius was the few left to remember. To all others who did not, the manor was in the gathering dark but another hill out of level ground; and litter on the northern land, as of an ancient creation forgotten by history and time. And the moonlight, pale and cold, made a mockery of the debris and a grave for the fallen. For the manor glowed faintly with a grim, ghostly white.

When half of an hour had passed, the companions passed through the forest and struck short a trail towards the north and the west until they came not a mile from the walled fence of Termina and a little bay of water. There at the right of the bay an overgrowth of hyacinths lay, and tall weeds also. Norris approached the flora and into the growth until before him a large canvas of weeds stood in his path. He tugged and threw aside the canvas camouflage and revealed from beneath a rubber boat. The boat was black of color, and from far away would seem to the untrained eye an unfamiliar patch. Powered by a fuel engine, the boat was a dear toy from the military, and taken into his own hands but by the blunder of poor accounting.

"Come up onboard!" he hissed as he pushed the boat towards them.

When all had seated he boarded, grabbed an oar and rowed them out to the sea. There, he started the engines and set it cruising swiftly over the northern waters.

"We have all that we can from you, Norris," said Radius. "But still I would ask of you one more thing."

"Yes, Sir," replied Norris, "you want my reason."

"Yes, Commander Norris. I still am interested, if not wary."

"Very well, Sir. Porre's dictatorship has everyone in the mainland suffering. They own the lands and houses and charted the waters, but they give their people nothing. Not a gold coin more, and still they raise their taxes. With already the world in their hands, they want more still: money, women and most of all, power. And they want also the legendary Frozen Flame. It is said that the Frozen Flame heals all and grants all. Their lust for power never can be quenched. I understand they, too, desire immortality that they believe the Frozen Flame will provide.

"Not all in the army, however, are rotten. By fortune or fate, I was drafted into the military and I followed in my father's footsteps. He had been a commander, well-regarded by his subordinates and the people of the precinct which he managed. But colleagues at his rank and higher despised and sought to remove him from his post. In their eyes, he was weak and sided with the peasants. He held fast to his post, until... finally...

"Now history repeats itself. I've been posted here to investigate the truth of the Frozen Flame, but in reality I've been stripped of much of my authority. They have around me planted their spies. Spies of those who would love to see me fall, and of those who execute to realize it. So at the manor I cannot speak, and not even in Termina. Ears grow on walls in the North of the continent, and on every step on the ground. Only at sea are we safe from them."

"But they put you here on a mission to seek the legendary treasure?" Radius asked as he stroked his beard.

"And that is why I'm the commander-in-name--one who gives a kind face to Porre. I may decide on little domestic issues, but I have no power over the wing that polices our grounds and holds our weapons."

Radius' brows furrowed in thought. "But your leaving would put them on guard and by dawn they will begin their search. Lester, your second-in-charge, already has overheard our intentions, has he not? Unless you know something they do not."

"I am out of office much of the time, scouting for clues, and they will not miss me very much. I wouldn't say I have knowledge that will give us a few hours' worth of advantage. Assuming the Frozen Flame is in the Dead Sea, what is left now is to find a way in. That's something I'm certain the demi-humans of Marbule would know of. They detest humans, but if Serge enquires as Lynx, we may yet discover more clues to the great puzzle."

Then said Radius with a look of disapproval, "But the demi-humans no longer live in Marbule. Everyone knows that. Don't you?"

"Yes, they have been enslaved by Captain Fargo on board his stolen vessel that he's conveniently converted to a trade of entertainment of all sorts. But not all of them demi-humans Fargo has under his whip. One roams free, though at night, in the limestone caverns of the isle. But few know this. And fewer may understand the importance this demi-human could have on Fargo, and to our journey."

"And you are saying this demi-human might be able help us to get on board the vessel," said Radius.

Norris nodded. All eyes fell on Serge, but he set his eyes on the darkness far away, and stayed silent. For a long while now his mind wandered aimlessly in the mists of yesteryears, and whilst he must have heard their conversation, he did not seem to listen. And Harle, who observed his apathy, frowned sadly.

Radius stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You have not been in El Nido as long as I have, yet you are better-learned, I see."

"Except in fighting, I'm afraid!" said modestly Norris who felt glad and ashamed also, at his praise.

"That's why they gave you guns," said Radius in response.

And they shared a hearty laugh.

"It is a stab in the dark," admitted Norris. "But there is hope that our attempt would bear fruit."

The boat cruised softly over the dark waters of the brooding night. Norris drove them eastwards until they came to the eastern edge of the central continent when he turned them to the south. Where the cold winds came from earlier now had died. Instead the air was still as the calm before a terrible storm. Norris turned off the engine and let hasty tides carry them on its waves between the low bluffs of the central continent and rocky edges of a nameless isle. A short moment passed and they hit smooth waters once more. And there and then the baleful moons shied behind the clouds.

"Serge you come from a world different from this, you say," said Norris. " I am an engineer by training and if you would pardon my frankness, I find that the most intriguing! My knowledge in this area is limited to what I read. But to know of someone who have experienced this is beyond my expectation!"

Serge regarded wearily Norris, and after a deep breath he spoke slowly, "I fell through from this world to the other, about a week ago. The experience of the fall to the other world was not entirely pleasant at first, but I gradually became used to it. Like you say, the history in the other world has divided some ten years before. In that world I drowned, and in this I survived that ordeal. I was, I believe, saved by a close friend of mine."

Norris perceived in his account a wistful tone, and for that he asked no further. Silence fell as the dark of night that lay upon the world, save for the hum of the engines and the sound of water clove apart by the bow of the boat. At last, Serge spoke.

"What of parallel worlds do you say you understand, Sir Norris?" he asked softly.

"Norris. I would say rather that I know and I may know less than what you understand. It is said that our world exists not as a singularity, but as many. And as many as sand on the beach, and perhaps many times more! Each world may be a slight variation of the other, but each may be as different as the ice Poles is to, say, Zenan. They start from one beginning; and for each the choice that is made, a different world with a different history comes into existence. Imagine the other possibility that would happen if you had chosen not to pay me a visit. Imagine then two other possibilities from those two. You will then understand how quickly the number of histories can multiply from a single beginning."

'Go on," Serge urged.

"In the space of a flash of lightning that consequence might make little difference in our world's history. But over millions of years since our world came into being, a choice made in the past could create entire new worlds that we could never now dream of! It would not be incredible to say that we live but for the choices made by ancient beings of long ago, or even choices made by Mother Planet.

"This formidable thought has challenged the thinkers of our day and had them still grappling with its incredible concept! From it new ideas also have since borne fruit. But they all give credence to Dr. Lucca Ashtear, the first who conceptualized this school of thought. It's all about probabilities, she says. And the world we are now in is a probability realized only by our own experience. One could go as far as to say, our world will not exist if we were not here to feel it."

"You mentioned Dr. Lucca."

"Yes. Dr. Lucca. Her name you've heard too."

"From a very close friend."

"The one whom you said you think saved you from drowning ten years ago?"

Serge exhaled. "Yes. Seems to me that she knows her. But many things have happened. I know well enough or hope at least that they will connect at some point in time, sooner or later."

Norris smiled and lay a firm pat on Serge's shoulder. "Do not brood over it, then! It will end well, I'm sure."

"I'm sure it will," said Serge as he sat up straight and pointed. "There it is. I see it now. I see Marbule."

x

x

x

Marbule had once been an isle with living soul of its own, an isle quiet and untouched. The white of limestone and shale shaped its land and low shrubs of green and gray flourished. Within its quarry water gathered from the earth below and trickled out from stones to the streams. Across the isle wind and water gradually had cloven so that a stream joined the sea and in the middle of on a moonlit night would appear blue and white. Its caves were in abundance and the walls of them were lined with veins throbbing with soft light of green from the power of the Elements. It had been rumored that the Black Dragon of the six once dwelt in the cave whose walls lit the brightest at night.

History took from Nature the isle of many wonders away a century ago when the first of mainland humans set foot upon the shores El Nido.

"Such ugly beasts they are!" hollered a man at his first sight of the natives, beings of mystic fashion to their eyes. And they looked him blankly, for they understood none of his words. "Behold! These are the vile creatures of the west, offspring from hell!"

"Nay. There are some of great beauty," said another referring to a mermaid whose skin was blue as a clear day.

"And of little clothes I see! Unless you wish of your children to take after their looks, may I suggest you tame your manly urge. You'd find nowhere of use of your manhood on this fish-woman besides. Now, drive them off our soil, or burn them if you so please! This is our land henceforth, and so rejoice!"

And thereafter the humans called the natives demi-humans. For they seemed to the eyes of humans part of themselves but of a varied, lowly creation: some of mermen and maids; some of the head of a bear; some of large ears and eyes; and others small in stature and gray of flesh. All of them had much love of the land than the betterment of their own livelihoods; and lack intelligence, or so humans felt.

The colonists thus settled in the north and annexed the central continent for their own. Whilst they lived on one land, the humans poorly treated the natives as a cruel shepherd did his sheep. The worst of men subjected them to beatings and torture. And they felled wood and burned bushes for their own designs and in so doing drove eventually the natives off the land. The natives settled in their new homes in Marbule and there they hoped to find peace in their new lives. They did not, however. For its richness of resource in Marbule became a target of Element hunters. Their homes were once more ravaged and pilfered and loot were sold back on the central continent for food and shelter. The natives banded together and refused entry to humans but being sedentary beings they could outfight not the strength and arms of humans. And so the natives suffered wreck and ruin until the land was dry of Elements and satiated no longer the greed of humans.

The natives put up little resistance against the colonials but in their hearts the seed of grudge was sown. And for a hundred years they were silent but resentful. Yet there still were some who found hate against the mainlanders irksome lived in Guldove apart from kin. But none were re-admitted to their ancestral home in the central continent, into where the high of society of humans now sat, behind the white walls of Termina.

x

x

x

Ever the skies remained clouded and here and there a twinkling star bejeweled the sky. The moons now hung high, but above the cold and moist air bleached the sickly moons and left them a sallow green.

Their boat came at last to the rocky shore and the companions alighted. He strode inland and expected greetings from the natives. But it felt to his keen senses that the isle was quiet. Not a soul it seemed stirred from beyond the dark entrances to the caves, and no being roamed carefree about the land. And Serge in his disappointment nearly tripped over a white stone. His gasp echoed about the tall walls of chalk and drifted north with the wind. There remained but the sound of flowing streams and of trickling water.

As he walked further into the isle, it seemed to his eyes that wisps of mist moved over hill and mount, twisted over streams and lake. Faint they were but against the twilight they looked conspicuous and none obeyed the drag of the southern wind. Then, when a mass of mist thrust into Serge and through him, a bitter cold ran through his veins. For a moment, the world in his eyes spun and his muscles twitched, and he scarcely knew what went on.

"Do you see the mists moving about?" Serge asked his companions after he regained composure.

"Mist? I don't see any except those between sky and sea behind which the horizon is lost." Said Norris.

"What do you see?" said Radius.

"Mists!" said Serge as he pointed to them. "Twisting and turning about the land. There's one mass of it there, and another just over the lake."

Radius laid a hand on Serge's pointing arm and forced it down to his side.

"Point to nothing," said Radius and the chill of comprehension hit Serge as of a fist to the abdomen. "There's no living here and by your account it seems that some other beings have revealed themselves to you. Are they of any harm, you think, Serge?" scan

Serge inspected all about him and said, "No. It doesn't seem like it."

"They choose who they wish to reveal themselves to. I know not of the reason, but perhaps your paths will one day cross. Until then, our mission requires our focus: Captain Fargo has taken our natives and through you we might just find the help we need here. I say we rest here for the night then; it would be less safe to venture into dark waters in any case."

"We have little choice," said Norris.

"I'm fine with that," said Serge as his shoulders sagged.

"Ooh-la-la! So am I!" Harle said.

And so the four companions found rest within a cavern, a dwelling that before belonged to a native. Dried leaves lay the top of hewn rocks so that it made a bed. And more lay scattered over the floor. A crevice in the center of the cavern held dried wood and there the companions set their fire. Norris rationed dinner and after their meal they retreated into their own dark corners. Light from the fire danced and when night at last laid its cloak over the world, only the last amber glows of the wood remained, and the companions had drifted into slumber.

For Serge, sleep did not come easy and when it did it would be disturbed by dark dreams of Kid's misfortune, of the last of the world. He would wake and then fell asleep to those dreams again and again, until frustration beset him and he hauled himself out of the cavern.

The waning moon barely lit the cavern entrance but had turned a dull blue the water in the lakes. Along the walls of stone were lined in brilliant abundance before with the veins of Elements but now only the glitter of few remained. Not a breeze blew and so fern and shrub stood quiet in the dead of night. Yet, the air was chill as ice, as if from the world of the mists it came. The mists hovered still about the land and here and there they drifted. Then, suddenly came a voice of a lady and Serge started. It sang with a voice of melancholy and with a dialect of the natives, and the tune of it grievous. Tears welled in his eyes and before long his throat felt wet with them.

Then, from the lake a lady emerged. When she came into full view she had not the legs of a human but that the tail of a great fish. Her hair was silver and long and glistened as moon reflected in water. Her skin was blue as the heavens, and no cloth or jewel adorned her naked body. And on air the mermaid floated and came up to Serge.

"How do you like my song?" she spoke and with a voice, low and enchanting. Then, she stroked his face with her warm, blue hand as if to assure him that she was living. Her eyes twinkled in the moonlight and in one he saw a tear of grief. Yet her smile was sweet as honey and it, in ways he could not put into words, moved him. "Irenes is my name. I saw you this evening with your friends. Pardon my poor manners, for I would have at least greeted you but amongst you are faces that I fear. Are you of our kind? Yet before I have not seen you."

"I am Serge," he said, and gently he put her hand away from his face, for he felt uneasy. "My friends are humans indeed, and I used to be. You need not fear us. We did not come here to-- we came to look for help."

She regarded with a look of surprise and then with sadness, she said, "A long story behind that I sense. And not for me, perhaps, to comprehend?"

"I have switched places with a man who belongs to another world. In this other world some things have changed, others remain the same. But there are details and to me it still seems like a great puzzle."

"I see," said Irenes. "So it explains why the air about you is different. Where does then the answer to your puzzle lie?"

"In the Dead Sea, we think. And that's where we are headed. Chief says your kind might know of that place; that's why we came."

"The Dead--?" Irenes gasped. "Of that evil place our kind forbids talk! Who knows what lies beyond it? Sacred ground before it used to be, when as the Sea of Eden it was still known. For generations on the third day of the third month our prayers we offer at the Pearly Gates. For it is said on that day before the beginning of all time through that gate the first of all beings passed and in our world they settled. But..."

Irenes grew increasingly hesitant, and for her reluctance Serge knew she kept in her a wealth of knowledge. But Serge saw little meaning in unearthing against her wishes all that she knew. And so he spoke of something else.

"That song you sang," said Serge. "It is sad. What does it sing?"

"That song was for my sister that before she died I made for her. Zelbess was her name. Fair and beautiful she was, and more than I can ever wish: both in mind and in body. For a human she perished, and for the same will my people."

"You don't mean Fargo, do you? He and your sister?"

"Doubt it do not. No boundaries love knows and between them like a rose and violet in gentle spring it blossomed. And so two lovely children the Sea gave unto them. But scorned them and hunted them did your kind. So from tradition and narrow minds they fled. But the shackles had them and in the fire your kind had set my sister perished. Their children since I have not seen or heard."

At this, Irenes stopped and looked away from Serge. Her eyes at last spoke of pain. Serge let pass a moment before he spoke again.

"And so Fargo took your kind captive."

"Many years have passed since our kind he enslaved, and some by him were driven to death. Those who could not leave in peace here they remained, forever in torment, if them you can see. Only me he left unhurt for my relation with my sister. The loss of Zelbess has changed him and to a thousand words of mine he would listen not. But to fate my heart has yet to give in."

"The Fargo I knew in the other world was a man of honor, even for a pirate."

"The world where all but a few remains the same as this?"

Serge nodded.

Irenes turned a little so that against the pale light the curves of her side stood out as a dark silhouette. Her shoulders, breasts, hip and tail were to his eyes perfect, as of a statue fashioned by chisel and imagination and set in the halls of craft or royalty. When he began to feel that he was staring, mist gathered and fell around her as if to clothe her, and now a faint aura embraced her. Then in a low voice she chanted a hymn of a tongue that seemed to his ears ancient and cryptic. But its words were smooth and flowed as a stream over straight banks, and with a rhythm soothing as the sound of water. And before long the mist left. His gaze shifted from her body and he held it fast upon a terrace of marble.

"Fate has brought us together and for a purpose perhaps, " said Irenes. "A word of advice I thus offer to you: look for the Sage of Marbule aboard Fargo's ship. The key to the gates he alone holds but to easily yield it he will not. For no danger unto the living he would deal. But some strength you might have against what evil beyond Death's Door. And so to convince him otherwise I shall endeavor; for a favor from you in return."

"What favor?" asked Serge.

"That to free my people you shall convince Fargo."

"But how can I do that?"

"To say yes I will not force you, Serge, for if you do to your word I will hold you. Your promise you need not fulfill now; but you must do so someday, before the end of it all. Should my offer you accept not, I believe even a glimpse of where you wish to go you may never get."

Serge folded his arms and contemplated. He cautioned himself against her words that though was heavily accented, was wrought of the elegance of silver. For from within a trap of deceit might spring, even if the natives have been known not to trick and lie. He was wary of the circumstance of their encounter and the manner of her appearance. He doubted the necessity of her offer when he had yet to meet this Sage in person. And the favor required of him seemed too great to pledge, when herself even could not move such a man as Fargo. At last Serge looked to the silver and red crescents for an answer, whilst Irenes waited patiently. But finally he made up his mind.

"Thank you, Irenes," said Serge. "I will do my best to help your people, if I enter the Dead Sea and leave alive."

"'Zelbess' Fargo has named his ship and tomorrow you should find, in the northeastern shore of the central continent, it docked there. For the Sage you must look; but with him I shall speak first. And about her you need not worry."

Serge raised an eyebrow, and to that Irenes said with a smile, "Love I see in your eyes. Good night and sleep well. Bless you will the spirits of Marbule."

And so she left Serge and dove gracefully into the water. Under the sheen of the moon's reflection she slipped silently away. The night turned cool and no longer to his skin it felt chilly. He then returned to the cavern and weariness set him drifting quickly him into slumber. In his dreams he saw her once more as a fair, blue maiden and leader of her people. Great ships docked behind them and in the air were music and songs.

Henceforth, Serge slept soundly for the night, and never woke till dawn.

x

x

x

Wind blew under the stars as the light of morning crept slowly up from the eastern sky. The waves grew strong along the shores where woken gulls roamed. Some squeaked and crowed and took off for higher ground. Others remained for the food that the sea had brought to their feet. Soon, the first rays of the sun spilled from the horizon and poured into their dwelling the light of fire. The sky was clear and the color of day had begun to wash away the blue of night. Morning had come, but Serge woke instead to the voice of Harle.

"Good morning, old geezer!" she said bluntly to Radius. Then she greeted the rest, "Good morning, Lynx! Good morning, Norris!"

And Serge and Norris greeted her in return.

"I slept through the night oddly if I may say," said Radius. "Did any one of you speak with her? Serge, especially."

And to that Serge replied, "I could not sleep in the earlier hours, and I saw her last night. She advised to look for the Sage on board Fargo's ship, but she'll speak with him in advance."

"Irenes," said Norris. "She remains the only one whom their people love. And it is by your fortune and effort, Serge, that she has agreed to help."

"Not with a favor in return," said Serge. "She has asked for help find a way to free her people from Fargo. I have agreed."

"Oh!" said Harle with arms spread and brows raised as if in disbelief. "But time is always against us! You should have considered duly or consulted us before agreeing to it, or at least haggled for a better deal than for her to just speak with the Sage. How difficult can that be? Did she put a spell on you?" She chuckled and as she tapped a finger on her slips, she said, "Or she offered something secret that we cannot know? She wears nothing I hear!"

That moment, Serge thanked his stars that he was now a cat, and the fur on his face hid the flush of his embarrassment. Guilt poured from her pout of her lips into the glass of his soul and overflowed over its shallow brim. In the back of his mind the silhouette of Irenes against the pale moonlight dazzled with brilliance. And for this Harle had him suddenly convinced that he had made a mistake, and he as she had put had been utterly mesmerized by her elegance and her beauty in the bare.

"We need not help her now, only after our journey is over. And I'm sure we can help!" Serge said and swallowed with little confidence.

"Oh, all can help, my dear Lynx!" said Harle. "Can all succeed?"

"A promise is a priceless and a man should keep to his," said Radius, who cast a furtive glance from the corner of his eye. "Since we are now bound to companionship we shall help him when the occasion demands."

"But who says you and I are bound?" said Harle with a hand raised defiantly. "I am bound only to Serge, and least of all to you! And not till I have passed and many eons later!"

"Have you no honor and respect in a team!" Radius roared. "Or are you finally and merely using Serge to you own ends? You seek the Frozen Flame for yourself: and correct me if I so am wrong."

"I seek the flame not for myself," said Harle as she walked up to Radius and glared up at him. "And I answer not to you!"

And she strode towards the exit of the cavern with the bells at her headdress tinkling in the ironic silence that she left behind. Guilt had wriggled and shrunk into the depth of his heart. Now instead fear troubled him: fear of a confrontation between the two rivals in his team, and found little solution to their bitter differences. They tugged at his sides to their ways and they seemed to him great weights that hindered his journey forward. Pressure built up in his heart and he felt compelled to clear his mind with a roar. But neither of them he felt must leave and great assets they were to the team; and he would bear not to send them away even if need arose.

"What of her past do you know, Norris?" said Radius.

"Little, except that the she once worked for Lynx, Sir Radius," said Norris.

"Is that not reason enough to have her cast out of our team? Lynx is our enemy and he is cunning! I will not have a spy of the enemy among us!"

"She saved me from death," said Serge as calmly as he could. "And that is reason enough for her to stay."

"Serge," protested Radius, "I, too, understand what it means pay a gratitude, but that in many other ways can be done. And the last of them all is to trust her completely."

"But I trust that she will do no harm to us, and I trust her also because I believe she can lead us to the truth of our worlds."

This moment, Harle came walking in with a pot of water, and she set it over burning firewood. On her face Serge could glean no sense of disappointment, and she hummed a joyful tune. No one spoke while she fanned the flames. When the water began to boil she said to them all, "Ooh-la-la! We're ready for breakfast!"

They had breakfast in the same, little cavern, but up and between them tall walls have sprung. When Harle doused the flames, the air turned cold and unfriendly, and so did the looks Radius cast at Harle. Cracks were beginning to find its way into the companionship, and slowly it crept and them it divided. When the sun rose above the entrance and cast soon the interior in shadow: then, the divide seemed now as great spans across chasms and deeper than the dark of night.

A long quarter of an hour passed. At last, Harle stood from where she sat, and danced out of their dwelling.

"I'll find myself at the Zodiac!" she said, back towards all.

This while, Radius, planted on firm ground his walking stick and stood up. "Serge," he said, "she keeps too much that she knows from us. Her eyes are deeper than the child she tries to play. She's waiting. Waiting for something. For what I cannot tell, though I know it must be evil against us. But if this is your decision still I accept it... for now. But I can make no promises, and I cannot stay my sword, if she proves to put our task and lives in danger, or if fury should consume me."

Radius fell sullen and creases of deep thought appeared on his forehead.

"I fear we may not live even to regret this, if ever she shows to us all her true colors."

He left the cavern. And Serge and Norris trailed.


End file.
